Fugax Momentum
by tcpanter
Summary: As the Great Crusade grinds steadily onwards the Astartes of the XIV Legion find themselves trapped by heretics and Xenos in a galaxy they do not recognise. When their offer of friendship is rejected the Galactic Republic has no choice but to fight. Will a Republic that has stood for peace for over 25,000 years triumph over the rapacious warriors of the Emperor of all man kind?
1. Chapter 1

**Fugax Momentum**

"It is the 31st millennium and the Imperium of man is retaking the stars. This is a time of many glories. I am captain Grendel of the Death Guard 6th Company. I have command of the Entropic. A frigate, at the head of an Imperium convoy en route through the immaterium, destined for Ork space. Our beloved Primarch Mortarion is expected to lend his grim splendour to our might within one Terran week. I have already given the order to depart the warp. If my men live up to their gene fathers reputation I expect there will be little fighting left for the Primarch's arrival. Anomalous warp signatures have been detected nearb..."

Shhhk

The entranceway to Captain Grendel's private arming chamber slid open with the rough grinding squeal typical of Death Guard engineering. Normally the punishment for an uninvited entrance to his chamber would have been swift and brutal but Grendel's enhanced senses had already identified the intruder. The captain was one of a dwindling few of the Death Guard who maintained the tradition of keeping a Serf. But the near fanatical devotion of his subject provided him with an unwavering ally in a gradually changing legion. "What gives you reason to enter my chambers Sabahn?"

The pale slender serf ran his palm over his shorn scalp thoughtfully for a moment as he was overtaken by the telltale shudder of a ship retranslating from the warp. "My Lord. I have worrying news." Any other trading such words with Captain Grendel would normally be met with stony resolution but the captain had learnt to trust the judgement of his serf. "It would seem something is interfering with our Astropath's ability to locate the Astronomican... It... is not there." Although the serfs fears had had an effect on Captain Grendel the Captains face was an unreadable mask. His enormous fingers found the buttons that would cease the recording of his most recent command log. "It would appear this sector matches no known star charts."

With a silence belying his obvious bulk Grendel rose from his seat. The giant virtually filled the barren arming chamber. Only his power armour mounted on the wall of the chamber broke up the monotony of gunmetal grey. "Take my word to the helmsman. Anchor the ships. Defensive formation. Make ready the bridge." Grendel finished relaying his orders to his serf even as he began to don the first segments of his armour. Usually Sabahn would aid but in the interest of haste his orders took precedent. Either way the Servitors would be along momentarily. Grendel removed the chest plate from the recess in the wall and held it out into the light. The exposed metal of the breastplate may have looked dull next to the finery of the Thousand sons and even downright barren to the sons of Fulgrim. But the runic Barbarun script detailing the first encounter of the Death Lord and those who would become his first sons made it gaudy by Death Guard standards. The sounds of whirring and servos alerted Grendel to the Servitors presence. "Good. Make haste."

The Death Guard Astartes stationed on the bridge were in their power armour by the time Captain Grendel arrived. The mortals likewise stationed danced and twisted around their giant leaders with a deftness honed of years. The blue luminescence of the holo globe in the centre of the bridge glinted off the barren architecture. Dispensing with much of the formality that tended to follow the Astartes of other legions Grendel swiftly took his seat in front the holo globe. Without orders Grendel's most senior officers took their places around the globe.

"I for one do not trust the eyeless sorcerers... But I trust their absence even less." Turgis spoke aloud for all to hear. Turgis was the most senior Apothecary of the 6th and commanded great respect despite a lack of warmth that would make Mortarion seem approachable. His long, lank grey hair clung greasily to either side of his face as he raised his gauntlet and began to speak once more. "Has contact with the Death Lord been established?" Turgis scowl crooked imperceptibly as he was cut off by the youngest Astartes in the circle. Bolkar was the closest any Death Guard Astartes came to being interested in technology. Usually the Death Guard had no use for anything past its most practical uses but Bolkar saw a simplistic beauty in machines not shared by his brothers. The wrinkles in his shaved head bunched up as the granite gesture on his captains face answered his question.

The few other Astartes that formed Grendel's emergency council grumbled as they read all they needed from their masters silence. "Then defensive positions... until word of reinforcements make contact... Excellent." Turgis's demeanour darkened a room already darkened by bad news. Almost as if in answer warning lights all around the bridge flared into life. The remaining Astartes in the command circle abandoned their attempts to be heard as Captain Grendel launched to his feet with a haste rarely seen in the inexorable Death Guard. "By the Emperor what is happening!?" His enhanced lungs carrying the sound around with a force that made it almost painful to his human subjects. The calamitous sound of a bridge alive with action greeted the captains question but he received no answer. Captain Grendel could pick out ships on the hololithic displays dotted around but the bridge was so frantic it was hard to ascertain their distance from the Death Guard defensive position.

"The Death Lords scythe will have the one who allowed our enemies to approach undetected!" Resounded throughout the room. The human voices that called out in response were timid and fearful. "Lord, the ships... they just... just appeared. There was no warp signal or approach vectors." Grendel paused, looking over the shoulder of a shaking bridge serf at the flickering hololith in front of him. "Impossible." Grunted Grendel. "Unless..."

"They aren't Imperial ships!" Bolkar's unmistakable voice called out. Bolkar was over to Captain Grendel's left exchanging data with a Servitor plugged into one of the great consoles. Grendel had little time to absorb the words of his battle brother. He had assumed the approaching ships to be hostile the second they appeared within scanning range. Imperium ships would have made contact via Astropath long before they came within striking range. "Prime all weapons. The Death Guard takes no chances."

The bridge was a blur with action. the frenzied pace of the bridge serfs had now reached fever pitch. Only the gargoylic forms of the Death Guard providing any sense of stability in the chaotic ship. Grendel watched the three great enemy star ships spread out into formation. His years of military experience permitted him to recognise the interlopers as cautious rather than aggressive. Who ever these interlopers were they wished to investigate the Entropic and its fleet sisters. Grendel's orders to hold their fire but prepare for combat were holding but every second he delayed rankled in his gut. The unfamiliar feeling of disquiet sat ill with the veteran Death Guard Captain.

Sabahn's voice, devoted and recognisable cut out through the clamour. "We are being contacted my Lord." A measure of quiet returned to the bridge as all but the most occupied of heads turned to face the serf and his nearby master. Captain Grendel paced purposefully back to his command throne. Without orders the rest of his command council took their seats. "Put them on the main screen." Grendel announced slowly. The Barbaran accent lingering on every word. The holographic blue of the central globe flared and then reformed into a distinct shape. That of a man. A wave of anticipation swept the crew. Enemy or not the discovery of a pre old night human civilisation was cause for joy to the warriors of the Great Crusade.

The man on the hololith's words were nonsensical until the translation devices of the Entropic began to work. "This is Republic space. From which system do you hail?" A few calculated moments of silence passed before Grendel made his reply. However Grendel's answer of "the Sol system" seemed to do nothing but confuse the clearly high ranking human arrayed before them on the hololith. A few seconds passed before the holographic representation of a man responded. "... Do you fight for the Separatists or the Republic?" The hazy outline queried.

This time the hologram barely had time to flicker before the Astartes made their reply. "We fight for the Emperor of mankind!" The look of bewilderment on the holographic officers face only intensified as time wore on. Grendel took a moment to consider the blue and red merit badges of the man he was addressing. "Our terms are simple... Do I speak with the commander of your fleet?" The look of consternation on the officers face as he excused himself was a source of fleeting amusement to the Astartes of the Entropic. Grendel allowed himself a glimmer of hope at the prospect of bringing another world to the Imperial fold but his battle senses, honed on countless worlds, was telling him the road to this "Republics" compliance would take more than words.

When the hololith flickered back to life the impact it had on the assembled Space Marines was palpable. Even to the Republic Admiral who's form glared out over the assembles Space Marines. If the Admiral had had any knowledge of the Death Guard he would have known negotiations were already over. Even the cadaverous dependability of Mortarion's sons could not disguise the looks of disgust on their faces. "Xenos..." Growled the Death Guard Captain. Turgis and the other Astartes rose without order from their seats and began silently preparing their battle stations. Grendel, the Emperors vision for humanity and the horrors of Barbarus clear in his mind, thought about ordering them to stand down. But the realist in him new there was to be no reconciliation with heretics.

The creature arrayed before the Astartes wore only a simple robe and although its very form was abominable its every move was excruciatingly exact in its suggestion of peace. The calculated demeanour of the iterator came to Grendel's mind as the creature began to speak. "Welcome. I, am Master Jedi and Admiral of this fleet Lotan Nu. My friends, on behalf of th..." Grendel's view lingered on the twin tails that hung from the Admirals head even as he interrupted. "We are not friends. Creature." The Admirals welcoming facade slipped for a split second. "My subordinates said you had terms for peace?" he continued measuredly.

"Tell me Xenos... What do you call your kind?" The Admiral, this time more careful to present himself with composure answered. "We are Twi'Lek..." "Well... Twi'Lek I said our terms were simple. There shall be no peace. With that Captain Grendel closed transmissions and war was declared on the Galactic Republic. Within seconds the entire ship was at battle stations. Chapter serfs ran back and forth arming and armouring their charges whilst Astartes after Astartes thundered across the ship. On the bridge Captain Grendel took the opening steps in this budding war. "Tell all ships to open fire!" it was only now that the first salvos had left the Imperium defensive line that Grendel had a chance to appreciate the size of this Republic's ships. Triangular in shape the three Republic cruisers were certainly Fearsome. But it would take more than ships to dissuade the Death Guard from war. After all... The Astartes know no fear.


	2. Fugax Momentum Chapter 2

**Fugax Momentum**

 **Chapter 2**

Within seconds of opening fire the Entropic's void shields were sorely tested. A staggering array of las fire erupted from the republic cruisers breaching the distance between themselves and their enemies before the Imperial ordinance could reach them. "All ships defensive manovers!" Grendel shouted as the ship began to lurch. Many of the Astartes present for the command circle had left the bridge by this point, sensing their impending duties, leaving it a streamlined operation. Bolkar was hunched over one of the consoles ahead as Grendel held on to steady himself. The pained creaking of the ship betrayed the minor but mounting damage the Imperial ship was sustaining under the Republics withering hail of fire.

Now it was the Imperium's turn. The lance batteries of the Entropic and her sisters struck the three ships. Despite the prodigious effect of the Republic Cruisers shields the seven Imperial battle ships focused fire directed at so few ships had an obvious effect. In some areas the shields held firm but in others it was overwhelmed. Gouts of flame signalled where great gouges were rent in the Republic ships. Grendel new better than to think this would see their enemies crippled but it was not the Death Guard way to count the bodies before they hit the floor. Slower Imperial ordinance was now crashing home. Unfortunately the Emperors wrath would be thwarted for now. The Entropic followed in the wake of the Cadaverex. Another Imperial ship that pulled out just ahead of them.

"Captain?!" Grendel hears his battle brother calling him but could not tear his attention from the Cadaverrex as it careened in front of his ship. Unlike some of the other legions once the orders had been given they were generally enacted without further complication and ceremony. In the gloomy reaches of the Entropic there was stillness. In the corner of his vision he marked the contact of a slightly reduced return wave of fire from the Imperial ships. "Captain" Bolkar called once again the young Barbaran still clamouring for his masters attention. "Open communications with the Cadaverrex!" Grendel shouted ignoring his battle brother. "It will be no use my Lord. Their systems have been disabled by enemy fire."

Captain Grendel didn't hesitate for a moment as the significance of an enemy with weapons that could disable an entire ship, how ever momentarily, dawned on him. "The Cadaverrex's systems are beginning to come back on line. The Peutross has lost its portside battery, the..." The strategem servitors words were lost on Captain Grendel as all his formidable attention was focused on the twilight of the Cadaverex. Although the void shields were beginning to flicker to life it was too late. The republic fire was overwhelming. The Imperium ships with properly functioning shields were just barely surviving.

Great red holes began to form all along the Cadaverrex as molten metal churned within. Its hull dissolving away into the blackness of space as battery after battery of laser fire evaporated great chunks of the ship. How many of his brothers lay dying he did not know but the Death Guard rarely worried about casualties. Captain Grendel contemplated their fate coldly before issuing his next order. "All ships forward!" He would reap Mortarions due from these heathens. It mattered not what they threw in his way. Because no where in this universe or the next was their an enemy who's fire the Death Guard could not weather.

The Imperial defensive line split up and twisted through space. The Republic lasers were still maintaining pressure on the Imperium fleet but several of their batteries had been crippled by Imperium lances. Grendel put on his trademark scowl as he saw another Imperial ship neutralised through what Bolkar was referring to as some kind of Ion cannon. Captain Grendel was so caught up in the battle he didn't notice Turgis pull in close to him. Talking so low only the advanced senses of the Astartes could hear he whispered to his Captain. "We dont know where we are. We have limited numbers. We are facing an advanced enemy. We must end this quickly."

Captain Grendel was at heart a ground fighter and was ill at ease commanding a vessel in combat. The prompting to action by Turgis only highlighted the potential danger of the situation. He was right. They were potentially cut off from reinforcements and ressuply and had already lost one ship. Their own weapons were wreaking under whelming damage to the enemy. By splitting his formation the intensity of enemy fire had been reduced and efficacy of the Ion cannons too but two more of his ships lay paralysed. If only he could get bring his Astartes to bear he could wrest an easy victory from the heretical Xenos loving republic. A ship to ship boarding action would never work. The enemy ships were to nimble and powerful plus with the looming threat of the Ion cannons it was tantamount to suicide.

The destruction of the Putross changed things. The cold dispassionate rage of Mortation descended upon the acting Lord of the Death Guard fleet. His course was set. The Ultramarines would have called it tactically unviable, the Space Wolves would have said their fury could have been better spent else where. But the Death Guard do not give thought to such things. The Death Guard endure.

"FIRE THE BOARDING TORPEDOS!"

It was a risky move, he thought as he transferred command of the bridge to the next in command before stalking out to the main egress. Many of the boarding torpedo's were still under repair after the brutal war of attrition the Death Guard were fighting before they were tasked with the extermination of the Orks. Captain Grendel trusted in the strength of his men. He had seen them fight on through casualties that would have seen even the Word Bearers legendary zeal desert them. But although the other legions may have thought of them as simplistic brutes that combine all the affability of an Imperial fist with the robotic demeanour of the Iron Hands. There was much more to Captain Grendel's tactical consideration than just the legendary resilience of his troops.

They were fighting an unknown enemy that had already demonstrated its own technology to be at least as advanced as that of the Imperium. Captain Grendel's gait lurched and swayed with the bucking off the ship as enemy fire periodically over loaded segments of the Entropic's void shields. He knew there were no more dedicated warriors in space than those who followed his command but he was loathe to over commit against a foe whose capabilities were yet to be tested. There was little choice at this juncture and the Death Guard could never be stopped. It was time for the Xenos and their abhorrent human allies paid for their heresy.

Many of the boarding torpedo's were destroyed in the opening moments of their exodus from the Death Guard ships. Two Astartes ships were destroyed and a further lay crippled and in danger of being overwhelmed when the first torpedo hit home. The erratic flight patterns of the Imperium battle group divided the Republic fire to such an extent the majority of boarding torpedoes were able to reach the largest central Republic ship. Unfortunately the incredible density of gun emplacements on the Republic ships prevented the Death Guard air forces from providing much support to the boarding actions. The strength of arms of the Astartes would make or break this battle now.

The Republic had been caught unaware by this new tactic of their unreadable hyper aggressive attackers. The Republic had braced themselves for a tirade of crippling explosions after the large projectiles thudded into their ships. When the explosions did not come they knew this conflict had just entered a new phase. Large blocks of white armoured, black visored infantry scurried across the ships reinforcing defensive positions and guarding junctions. Intruders were on board and the Republic soldiers were about to get their first taste of the Astartes. The Republic troops were already well in place by the time the Space Marines had finished disengaging themselves from the wreckage of the boarding torpedo landing sites. In those opening moments of battle the Death Guard found a begrudging respect for the training of the Republic troopers if not for their enemies themselves. For in truth their training far surpassed that of their own human allies. The first round of perfectly drilled fire to emanate from the Republic forces defending stairway T-113 hit their marks perfectly. The Death Guard laughed. Or would have had they been of the temperament. Their power armour provided ample protection but the source of their joyless mirth was the mistake made by their enemies. The first round of fire struck them across their chest plates. The next round of fire faltered slightly as the Republic troopers registered the awesome splendour of the charging Astartes form.

Stairway T-113 was a typical entry point to the central vein of the Republic ship. It was essentially a corridor that went down a flight of about ten steps. The Astartes knew the troops they were facing had fortified their position at the top of the steps but were hoping that their legendary fortitude would make up for what the shock and awe of first contact with the Astartes could not. Less than ten Space Marines rounded the corner and charged the stair way. The effect of the space Marine charge was measurable. Bolt rounds slammed home throwing Republic troopers from their feet taking their rear squad mates down with them. Despite the horrifying opening casualties of the Space Marine charge the Republic soldiers reacted perfectly. Troopers shifted positions and shouldered their rifles even as the buried warheads of the Space Marines projectiles pulped their already dying comrades behind them.

With their aim adjusted the Republic troopers fared better. Two Space Marines fell. One from a blast that pierced through an eye plate and another struck in the weak point between the thigh and groin of his power armour. But it was too late. The Astartes were in their midst. The great trench knives of the Death Guard 6th company had been designed for the brutal grinding melees they were usually tasked with but they served equally well in the press of astral boarding actions. The Republic troopers fell like wheat. Here and there a combat roll or an unexpected dive would spare them death but those that tried to fight were split in twain. Republic rifles were shorn as the final strokes of the Death Guard came to an end. One Trooper had escaped. No doubt running to inform his superiors of the strength of their foes. The Death Guard had no such fears. The reverberations of violence spreading like rough waves through the ship told them their brothers were near and the more finely tuned among them could pick out the shudder of lance batteries striking in unison.

The small scale skirmishes around the centre of the Republic ship had been catastrophic. Republic soldiers died in their hundred but the disposition of the enemy had been measured. Much of the central ship had been abandoned in favour of heavily reinforcing a few key points. It was clear that the Astartes where heading towards the bridge and thus their options of ingress were limited. Apothecary Turgis considered the mission ahead of him. He had rendezvoused with two other boarding groups and was now in overall command of nearly 30 Space Marines. They had rampaged through out the flank of the ship before gathering their bearings and making haste for the pathways that would take them to the bridge. Despite the interference of the Republic ships shields Turgis had been able to make sporadic contact with the Astartes fleet. Apparently the battle in the stars was still in the Republic's favour and the Astartes boarders were badly in danger of finding themselves marooned upon the foreign cruisers they sought to overwhelm.

No news had reached the aging apothecary of the boarding efforts on the other ships which did not sit well with him. He had been sure the majority of the torpedoes would strike the central ship. Considering the uphill struggle the boarders were having on the Republics capital ship caused Turgis to scowl. The ship was a maze of corridors and access ways. Though their enemies fell swiftly when directly engaged Turgis had seen more than enough of his brothers fall to their enemies deadly accurate concentrated fire. To compound this disparity of fire power the white armoured troops of the Republic were experts at defending the choke points of their ship. Even if it was not enough to break the rapidly aggregating Space Marine boarding parties.

Thus far the clone tactics and weaponry had changed little since the opening Space Marine/Republic skirmishes. Turgis had seen limited use of explosives but the sudden close quarters fighting seemed to have taken the enemy by surprise. How much longer it would be before heavier weapons, weapons more capable of stopping a Space Marine in his tracks were brought to the battle. Turgis had a reputation for being the most brutal and belligerent Apothecary in a legion that prides itself on its brutality and belligerence. During this battle Turgis had stopped to provide aid to exactly none of his wounded brethren. One Astartes requested treatment after his single handed assault on a heavily defended grav lift put him on the receiving end of ten perfectly aimed laser blasts. The molten remnants of the brave Astartes' power armour seared much of the skin from his face. Turgis put a bolt round in his leg and asked him if such wounds would stall the Primarch.


	3. Fugax Momentum Chapter 3

**Fugax Momentum**

 **Chapter 3**

Turgis and his squad emerged into the central vein at a run though they were not the first Astartes to do so. Fire fights had erupted its entire length as they stormed forwards. The central vein was, in essence, a great corridor that connected the munitions level to the grav lift that reached the bridge. Doorways branched off at intervals the entire length and the Grav lift was protected by a rapidly closing ray shielded bulkhead. The ray shields protecting the lift shimmered to life as a ten man deep eight man wide firing line of Republic troopers took aim. The front ranks were kneeling and those behind crouching and so forth presenting the entire formations weaponry to the foes. Turgis grimaced. The enemy had adjusted their tactics. There were too few Astartes on the ship to simply overwhelm the defenders. Reaching the bridge now was their only option and they had to do it before their own ships were torn down by those of the Republic. The heretic troopers opened fire. Despite their bulk the Apothecary and his soldiers moved swiftly towards their enemies. Pockets of Republic soldiers emerged from the myriad entry ways along the vein to bar their path.

The first shots they got off were ineffectual and those that tried for a second were swiftly reduced to smears on the giant marines armour. Turgis took a look at his brothers engaged ahead before turning to his most trusted brother. "Hephestule! Lets give our new friends a taste of Barbarus!" The guttural chuckle that was his questions retort was telling of the Space Marines approval. Hephestule passed the word back to the rest of the men just as the first shots began to break through the screen of their rapidly disintegrating brothers. The wall of neon light spewing from the Republic weapons sped towards the Astartes. Many of the charging brethren did not survive the time it took to switch their bolters to Al-Chem munitions. The use of such weapons was generally spurned by the Space Marine legions but the Death Lord Mortarion was ever a practical being. Many of the Barbarun's among the legion had no quandary with using such weapons against heretics and Xenos.

Two Astartes from among Turgis's thirty man boarding party fell before the first Al-Chem rounds found their marks. At this range the bolter fired rounds were not always guaranteed kills but second by second lethal chemicals filled the chamber around them. Now it was not only a race against time but the resilience of the Death Guard against the precision of the Republic. An Astartes turned his shoulder to absorb a cluster of incoming fire. Another dipped low evading a few more blasts. Others were not so lucky. Red welts were beginning to form in the grey of the Space Marine power armour. Rivulets of molten ceramite could be seen coming away as the heavy soldiers forged on.

Al-Chem rounds detonated as they collided with errant laser blasts. Republic troopers erupted with green noxious gasses, partially obscuring the gleaming white of their armour. The Astartes were pushing themselves now. A few had started to slow down as their armour began to sizzle and fuse to their flesh as the relentless array of fire continued to bear down upon them. Turgis could feel the heat of his helmet beginning to singe his hair. "Arrrgh!" The Apothecary bellowed as the Astartes training in him told him to break off his troops and regroup. But to the Barbaran whose earliest memories are of his Primarch wading into the impossible in hospitability of their home planet this was anathema. The squad needed no orders. Each among them was ready to die in the attempt to withstand their foes strength.

A Republic shot felled another brother but still they pushed forward moving barely faster than a jog. Some of the Death Guards armour was so hot now their footsteps left flames in their wake. Half of them lay dead or incapable of proceeding. Even the increasing efficiency of the bolter rounds were failing to thin the fire of the Republic line in any significant way. Another battle brother is felled. Seven Republic shots liquefy the leg of another. There were only ten Death Guard left when the Republic fire began to lose a measure of its coherency. Within seconds it degenerated to erratic. Despite themselves the remaining Astartes smiled. Their objective had changed. Now the Death Guard raced to close with the enemy before their toxic ammunition stole all the glory. Suddenly awash with renewed vigour Turgis came forth. The enemy fire had thinned to almost nothing as he came within ten paces of the nearest foe, his squad mates hot on his heels as he ran and great Astartes trench knife in hand. The resistance had left the Republic troopers long before Turgis reached what remained of their formation but that wouldn't deprive him of his prize. He hefted his impossibly muscled arm high to strike as his target dropped to floor.

Turgis paused to take stock of his surroundings. The Republic troopers were all down, dead or dying from the fumes that permeated the floor. With a grunt of disappointment Turgis sheathed his blade. The battle for the lower levels of the ship was complete. The trooper at his feet coughed and splutters earning the Apothecaries attention. He knelt down and bluntly removed the dying enemies helmet. *Cough* *cough* "We... We thought you were men." croaked the dying trooper. Turgis dropped his helmeted face in low and growled.

"We had thought the same..."

When the poisonous fog of the Death Guard munitions had finally dissipated Turgis had reinforced their newly gained territory. A few Astartes were kicking through the detritus that had so recently been returning fire. "If I had known we were going make it to their line I would have let the fuggers breathe. Might have put up a..." The well travelled Apothecaries musings were interrupted by one of his men. "Sir, Tacticae might wish to see this." Turgis stepped over to see the bodies of a few of the Republic troopers his men had dragged over. Their helmets had been removed exposing their tanned flesh to the glow of the star ships lights. "They're clones..."

The reverberation of an explosion signalled an increase in the viability of long distance communications throughout the ship. While not perfect the Space Marines had used this to conglomerate into a single force. With nearly one hundred Space Marines it was not long before the grav lift had been taken. Progress had reached a stale mate outside the enemy bridge when Captain Grendel trudged up to the front.

Captain Grendel had boarded the Republic ship with the second wave, ensuring his expertise was enacted aboard his own vessel, before committing to personal combat. The enemy capital ship, significantly larger than the others had been his target. Though the enemy force had been formidable it wasn't the size of their ships but their cavalcade of unorthodox techniques that had vexed the Astartes. Their ability to strike from seemingly nowhere and disable entire ships with but the fire of a single cannon instilled a sense of wistful foreboding in the Captain as he approached his Apothecary.

"Would I be wrong to think you have saved cracking the enemy bridge for your commander?" Apothecary Turgis was surprised by the sudden presence of his superior. Without breaking position, at one of the flanking walkways emanating from the junction to the bridge, he turned his head in reply. Sporadic bolter and las fire could be picked out as Space Marines on either side of the corridor to the bridge exchanged fire with their clone counterparts.

Turgis's first reply was in the form of a drawn out snort. No doubt betraying his sense of embarrassment to his captain. "The enemy commander... is crafty." Turgis beckoned his commander to his side and the pair risked a brief glance around the corner, and through the wreckage into which the Space Marines converted the bridge entrance, into the enemy command centre. Clones had fortified virtually every viable position and in the centre of their line stood the alien commander who had so recently sought to parley. Though the Astartes only looked for the most fleeting of seconds Captain Grendel noticed a curious shard of light that seemed tethered to the creatures hand.

"I had Hephestule provide covering fire and sent in the remnants of squad Ogghru. They had boots on the ground when the Xenos pulled the... lasblade." The lines on the Apothecaries face creased as he continued. "Five of our brothers were down within moments. We tried switching to Al-Chem rounds but the bridge has some kind of ventilation system." Captain Grendel knew that trying to take a heavily fortified bridge without the use of chemical and biological weapons could present a challenge whilst under the time constrains imposed by the ongoing ship to ship combat.

With such constraints Captain Grendel opted for a time tested Death Guard tactic. A massed infantry advance. Ofcourse, he understood, that his current forces could not rightly be considered a mass but one Space Marine is worth ten of his foes. In battle sign Captain Grendel ordered his men to prepare to storm the bridge. The exchange of fire between the clones and Astartes dropped to nothing as the Space Marines pulled back to reform. Knives were drawn and Bolters reloaded. This would be deciding skirmish of the conflict. Grendel flipped the power switch on his prized blade. The power cleaver he had wielded since his inception into the Death Guard had been based on a family relic passed down to him from his father on Barbarus. This cleaver, many times the originals size, was etched in the Barbarun runes and studded with vicious looking hooks. It was said that the hacked bronze blade, Miasmon, was once held by the Primarch before his discovery by the Emperor.

By the time Captain Grendel had surveyed the field of battle through the insectine lenses of his personalised helmet his men were ready. Two waves of Space Marines prepared to march into the jaws of Death should need be. The rest of the men were deployed to their rear to counteract the occasional sneak attack made by clones trying to retake the ship. The sounds of movement and hushed communications could be picked up by heightened Astartes senses coming from the Republic command centre. With all eyes on him Grendel gave the order to attack.


	4. Fugax Momentum Chapter 4

**Fugax Momentum**

 **Chapter 4**

The thunderous charge of the Space Marines drowned out the orchestral tones of firing Republic weaponry. Low yield explosive devices rolled between the legs of stomping giants, their detonations staggering the marines but failing to stall their assault. The Astartes cast a grim shadow as the first of their number breached the thresh hold. The vibrant blue, emitted from clone weapons, bathed the bridge in a dreamlike light as Space Marines fanned out to let their brothers add their own fire to the fray.

Clones dropped in pairs as bolt round explosions spread death from victim to fellow. One Republic trooper wielding some kind of rotary cannon kept the advancing Marines pinned for sometime before a round was put in its face. Clone casualties began to mount prompting their Xenos commander to step forwards. Only ten Astartes paces stood in between the Xenos and the Space Marines to either side of the door when the Las-Blade in Master Jedi Lotan Nu's hand thrummed to life.

Bolter fire was beginning to inflict notable damage to the Clone ranks but where the Jedi stood no rounds found their marks. The green of Jedi's blade flashed hither and thither as it evaporated the detonation mechanisms in passing ammunition. Captain Grendel noted the similarity in the whirling swordplay of his enemy and the fey Eldar who so often plagued their galaxy. Several Space Marines turned to focus their fire on the enemy commander but no sooner had they pulled their triggers than their enemy leapt impossibly from their sights.

The first wave of Astartes to breach the chamber had spread out to the flanks and now the second wave was spewing in. Captain Grendel finally had his chance to inspect the enemy bridge. It was a large room arrayed around a central hub with a grey minimalist style completely odds with the superfluous ornamentation so common to Imperium ships. Two rows of consoles were being used as cover by the clones. Their commander danced around the empty space before them as Captain Grendel began adding his own bolter fire to the melee.

During the early stages of the Death Guards attempt to seize the enemy capitol ship close quarters fighting had been Death to the Republic forces but the balance of combat was taking a different turn now. Clones were victimised by the Astartes when the two lines met but where Lotan Nu fought the Space Marines charge faltered. Bolt rounds continued to atomise clones even as the last pockets of unengaged troopers aim fired their weapons with reckless abandon into the growing mass of Imperium troops.

Lotan Nu's hand flicked to his left and after a fleeting moment of resistance a Space Marines hand was parted from his arm. It was like cutting through a wall thought the Xenos commander as his blade continued to shave fragments off the cyclopean warriors vying to crush the life out of him. The clones were being wiped from the galaxy at a rate the Jedi had never before seen but his skills had thus far prevented the Astartes from laying a hand upon him. Despite the Jedi having scored an impressive tally of blows on his opponents, their obscenely thick armour had prevented him from delivering many lethal strikes. The momentary pause it would require to thrust his blade through their armour and into their internal organs would pin him in place long enough for one of the Astartes to crush the life out of him. Although several loose Astartes hands and fingers littered the floor.

Drawing on all his creativity the Jedi began to take advantage of the Space Marines lack of mobility on his ship. He ducked then rolled avoiding a swinging trench knife by inches before leaping into the air, only to land on the back of that same blades owner. His Light Sabre took a moment to punch through the eye lense of his target but the Space Marine dropped to his knees dead none the less. His Astartes fellows a fraction of a second too late to deliver a counter blow.

A bolt round would have flattened the Jedi there and then if his connection to the force hadn't provided him with foresight. Using the brutal Space Marines as footholds Lotan kicked off one Astartes after another, thrusting his blade into weak points as he scanned for the enemy commander. Both feet touched the ground when a frustrated Death Guard soldier leapt forward trying to put arms on the Jedi.

Despite the din of battle Lotan's concentration had not been disrupted. The Astartes leaping at the Jedi froze in place for an instant as a confused look overtook his face. A moment later and that same Space Marine found himself tumbling into those behind pinning them to the ground. So far the Jedi's mastery of the force and his deadly blade were all that stood between the alien and the fury of his enemies. But as the swell of Space Marines began to increase the Jedi was finding himself more and more hard pressed just to survive let alone salvage this engagement.

A trench Knife was rent asunder as it clashed with the Xeno's Las-Blade. Its owner had half of his insides scorched to worthlessness as that same blade was thrust down through the gap between his helmet and neck. The Xenos was focused now. Its every ounce of concentration dedicated to battle and it began to show. The swirling morass of maimed Space Marines had bubbling orange ravines carved into their armour. Others had their brains eradicated as the glowing tip of the Xeno's blade slipped behind their eyes, the green of the blade casting ghostly shadows as it wounded or dispatched its targets.

Despite their enormous size the Xenos found no problem in weaving between the Space Marines legs or leaping over their heads. But even with the power of the Force the incredible pace of this battle began to take its toll on the Jedi. It was clear that not only was the protracted nature of the fight beginning to tell. But the dismay at the tendency for those Death Guard, on which he had already inflicted "deathly" wounds, to stand back up and add their strength to the battle once more was beginning to hamper his concentration.

One Space Marine was missing two hands and had the molten remnants of his armour running over a wound in its stomach but that did not stop it from turning a clones brain into paste with its elbow. The sight distracted the Jedi for just a moment. In the chaos it was hard to know who had launched the blow but the Jedi had been struck. Lotan Nu was catapulted across the room. The maddening strength of the Astartes shattered two of the creatures ribs. The tails on the creatures head shivered as reverberations of pain spread through its body. The Twi'Lek general leapt to his feet and gracefully placed one hand on his ribs and with the other pointed his blade at the nearest enemy. Suddenly three of the brutes were upon him. He weaved this way and that, the grinding of the shards of his fractured bones, causing him to grimace as he did so.

One of the Marines loosed a horizontal slash at the Jedi. Lotan ducked below and craned his neck to see the underside of his attackers hand. With a feather light motion Lotan all but dragged his blade across the Space Marines fingers liberating them from his hand as he slid away. Another of the human like beasts charged forwards but an invisible force held him in place, even has Lotan thrust his blade into a patch of armour glowing with the heat of earlier strikes. The Astartes took a step back unimpaling itself from the Las-Blade in its chest before stomping forth again. It was six more times the Las-Blade penetrated its armour before the Space Marine finally went down.

Lotan paused as he realised the silence of the chamber around him. He glanced left and right and only saw the bloody pieces of those who had served him so loyally. Bits of clone were draped over consoles or adorning Astartes weapons in dripping chunks when Lotan realised he was surrounded. No Astartes made moves to end the life of their prey and the Jedi wondered if his enemies intended to take him alive.

He was spared such thoughts by what he sensed to be the enemy commander. It was only during this pause in the battle that the Jedi had time to reach out with the force and truly sense his foes. Something was strange about them certainly. A bizarre "otherness" he could not put his finger on but there was much he recognised. Hatred beyond reckoning burned within the minds of each of the beings who surrounded him. A hatred he knew could never be quenched save by their extermination or his own.

The Jedi's musings were cut short when an enemy warrior shouldered through the picket of almost humans. He wore armour dotted with mysterious writings and a helmet resembling the head of an insect. The two enemy commanders now stood taking in each others stock before their own personal battle commenced.

Captain Grendel thought about sharing words with the enemy who had cut down so many of his men but his revulsion got the better of him. He took one step forward as his thumb hovered over the switch that would engage the power field on his blade, Miasmon, when he felt a gauntlet touch his arm. "Let me crush the Xenos my lord." It was the Apothecary, obviously chaffing at his failure to secure the bridge before his captain had arrived. It had been quite some time since Grendel had had the chance to face the enemy in personal combat. His recent promotion to Captain kept him tethered to the bridge of his own ship most of the time and he yearned to let his hatred of Xenos consume the enemy commander. But every member of the Death Guard who knows the story of their Primarch knows that vengeance denied can leave a sour taste in a mans mouth.

"Fight well brother." The Captain replied as he took a step back. The Apothecary smiled and removed his warped helmet revealing a face partially scorched from the intense combat at the central vein. The Narthecium in his left hand whirred to life even as the powered trench knife in his other began to glow. The Xeno's eye darted to the flashing weapon in his hand as Turgis resolutely trudged forwards.

Despite the obvious injuries the alien was still lightning fast. He dodged the Apothecaries first two blows, wild swings with his knife, without effort even as a third came down vertically from above. A side step was all that was required to avoid it but it had been an attempt to take him off balance for a backhand strike with the same blade. This time the Jedi had no choice but to parry. The Las-blade struck the power knife midair. Unlike the other knives Lotan's blade had clashed, with the energy field encasing it, this one held. Unfortunately Lotan did not. Harsh light erupted as Lotan was hurled from his feet. It was only the power of the Force that allowed him to land with any kind of finesse.

Turgis, faster than his enemy had realised, darted in again. The drill of his Narthecium tearing a superficial wound in the Jedi's leg even as his foe twisted away. Again his attack had been a set up for his power knife to cleave the enemy. The Las-Blade intercepted again but this time instead of attempting to parry the strike Lotan shifted his weight and redirected the Apothecaries awesome strength. The overconfident Turgis careened forwards almost losing his balance. He felt hot agony pool in his stomach as a spear tip of light was driven into his back. He rounded on the Jedi as soon as the end Las-Blade was pulled free another of his own blows narrowly missing in the process.

The Apothecary began to grunt as he swung more and more wildly in his attempts to pin down the Xenos. Great chunks of his pauldrons had been shorn clear as the expert counter attacks of the Jedi tore into his raging form. Again and again his deadly strikes were knocked minutely off target by the delicate sword work of the alien. Introducing more of his arsenal to the fray Turgis hurled his knee at his opponents chest. He felt the sting of the Las-Blade caress his calf as he did so but his supporting leg stood strong.

The Jedi was knocked back and coughed blue liquid from its mouth as it shuddered with the pain from the blow it just received. Turgis smiled when he realised it was blood issuing forth from the Xenos with whom he duelled. This time however it was the tiring Jedi who went on the offensive. Holding his hilt in a two handed grip the Jedi pointed the tip of his blade at the Space Marines face. Darting forward the Apothecary dropped into a guard too late to see it had been a feint. Spinning in a circle the Jedi slid around Turgis's weapons and cut deep furrows into his back. The Space Marine spun to try and counter attack but the nimble Jedi kept turning with him thrusting the tip of his blade deeper and deeper into his target.

Blood was issuing forth from the Astartes's many wounds and Turgis began to slow. If it weren't for the Space Marines legendary healing ability one would have been able to look through Turgis clearly from one side to the other. Fearing the consequences of defeat in this arena the Apothecary formulated a plan that combined his years of tactical experience with the very essence of Death Guard stratagem. The Jedi had broken off his fierce assault to the Space Marines back but was circling him, probing for weakness.

Thus far the Xeno's aptitude for evasion and its ability to start moving before Turgis even planned a strike had kept the Jedi from receiving a decisive blow. But the Apothecary was willing to do anything in his power to pin his enemy down. The purple glow of Turgis's knife singing the air inches away from Lotan Nu's head announced the Apothecaries renewed attack. Flashes erupted across the room splaying the circle of watching Space Marine's shadows across the Republic bridge. Lotan's Las-Blade forced the successive strikes wide threatening to carry Turgis off balance but the Apothecary held firm.

Suddenly the Apothecary shifted his stance and crouched low. The Xenos Las-Blade angled horizontally just before he brought his knife up. Another flash of light heralded the instant Turgis's knife met the guard of the Jedi. The tremendous strength of the Apothecaries rapidly uncoiling muscles proved too much for Lotan who was swept up into the air, his blade dropping from his hand.

Lotan Nu landed perfectly on his feet although he shook a little as the pain from his wounds continued to vex him. What was of more concern to the warrior was that he was no longer in possession of his weapon. It now lay inactive far out to the side of the combatants. Too far away to be reclaimed with a roll, and time was running out, as the raging Astartes dropped his knife and ran forwards.

Turgis seized the initiative after disarming his opponent and wished to feel his enemies life ebb away with his own two hands. Deafening steps rang out as the Apothecary closed the distance, hands outstretched. Three meters. Two meters. The Apothecary was almost within striking distance when one of the Jedi's hands flicked to his side. Turgis heard the sound of the discarded Jedi blade rattling on the floor but missed its flight to its owners hand. He felt the sting of fire as he commanded his legs to take the final step but they were unresponsive. It was only when his top half began to fall back that he understood that the Las-Blade had been brought horizontally through his waist.


	5. Fugax Momentum Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The Jedi Master spared not so much as a downward glance for the Space Marine that lay rent before him. His Las-Blade flicked towards Captain Grendel and although wracked by fatigue the Jedi's physicality screamed defiance. Wincing as he shifted his weight Lotan Nu took a tentative step towards his next challenge. If the death of one of their own in single combat had had any effect on the Astartes it was imperceptible to the Jedi. His Force sense unable to determine whether this was because their peculiar nature obscured their feelings to him or if the Space Marines simply had no feelings on the matter at all.

The Xenos could feel his wounds growing worse with his continued movement but forced himself on through the pain. The few exposed faces surrounding him were stoic to say the least. The glowing orange streaks across their armour, testaments of the Jedi's skill, had began to dull and cool. Suddenly the Jedi froze. Now a nigh imperceptible change spread over the Astartes faces although the Jedi did not have a chance to see them. A mammoth fist had snared his leg in a vice like grasp. The titans hand enclosing its prey almost from ankle to knee. In the throws of such distress Lotan Nu was overwhelmed. Another great gauntlet dragged the creature to the ground.

The wet cracking of their enemies demise was as close to music as existed within the ranks of the Death Guard and for now the Apothecary Turgis their greatest composers. The Astartes audience got bored of the action long before its perpetrator. Captain Grendel had to raise his voice for his orders to be carried clearly over the sounds of grunting and grinding meat. Moments later the enemy bridge was awash with action. Space Marines ran to and fro, the sounds of combat resuming, as Grendel's men began to re secure the route to the extraction point. "Captain?" rang out across the bridge as Hephestule reached his leaders side.

Hephestule was, to the untrained eye, an unremarkable member of the Death guard. No embellishments adorned his armour and his grey black hair was cropped to perfect regulation standards. There was something in the depths of his psyche that set Hephestule apart from his brothers. A disdain for weakness that would make the Primarch beam with pride and an affinity for the pain of his enemies that bordered on the insane. For these very reasons Hephestule had been taken under the Apothecaries wing and as such petitioned his commander for permission to help transport his wounded mentor to the medicae.

Despite most of his concentration being dedicated to the tactical updates being provided to him through his helmet, Grendel heard out his subordinates plea. "My Lord, I request permission to escort brother Turgis to the Medicae." Hephestules thick accented voice cut through the maelstrom of noise flowing through the bridge. Ignoring the cacophony of the chiropractic fury that continued to be enacted upon the Jedi's corpse Grendel spoke.

"Permission granted." Announced the Captain as he stepped away from his Apothecaries personal battle. After a moment he turned back and beckoned Hephestule to step over to him. "But know he makes a worse patient than he does a healer... If such a thing can be possible." The Captain smiled under his helmet at the thought of the abuse his medical officers would soon to endure.

"Never mind... Ill get there myself!" The sudden sound of the Apothecaries voice shocked Hephestule and the Captain.

"But. My Lord? There is no shame in..." The inhuman coldness in the Apothecaries stare was cause for Hephestule to cease his protestations. Turgis, streaked in the blue blood of his latest conquest, swung arm over arm as he began to drag himself across the bridge. "Somebody grab my legs!" Turgis called out over the shrieking of his armour as it ground against the plasteel finish of the bridge.

Once the Apothecary had left his side under the watchful gaze of Hephestule, Captain Grendel returned to his tactical appraisals of the situation. According to those still shipside it was not long after the Astartes boarding torpedos hit that the two ships accompanying the central enemy ship retreated. Many Astartes had disappeared with them and were now beyond contact. Such news sat ill with the commander but their next move had to be a swift one. By now the Astartes had secured their escape route and were beginning to conglomerate in preparation to teleport. One of the last Space Marines in the enemy bridge came to a standstill at the Captains side. "I have determined several items that would be of interest to the Mechanicum. How should we proceed?"

The answer unsettled the young Space Marine. His affinity for the Mechanicums teachings had instilled a healthy respect for the understanding that could be gleaned from the creations of their enemies. "Scuttle the ship. There is nothing to be learned from Xenos." spat Commander. By the time the teleporters had returned the warriors of the Imperium to their ships enough Rad charges to contaminate the entire cruiser had been set. Biological life would not grace this ship with its presence for many years.

After Captain Grendel and Hephestule had wrestled the Apothecary, long enough for one of the Medicae officers to administer enough sedative to subdue the raging top half of their brother, the Captain called his closest to his command circle. When they had arrived they were all informed of the outcome of the days battle. Without feeling Grendel noted the change in one of his officers appearance.

Szezilaak was the leader of one of the squads under Grendels command who had united with Turgis during the assault on the central vein. The focused fire of the Clone firing line had superheated his armour sublimating his skin and freezing him in place. Many among the Death Guard present at that skirmish had assumed them dead. But several of them were cut out from their armour at battles end and, after minor treatment, declared fit for duty.

Szezilaak sat down, now unburdened by his power armour and dressed in a simple green and white Barbarun robe. His ears were now virtually non existent and it was obvious that new openings had been cut into his molten flesh for him to be able to see. But the coagulating raw flesh exposed all over seemed not to cause the warrior any outward discomfort.

There were a few moments of silence as the assembled members of Captain Grendel's cabinet sat still. Each of them had signs of the recent battle etched into their features. Normally it would be now that the ill tempered Apothecary would make his wishes to destroy the enemies of the Emperor known but without his presence the silence continued unabated. This time it would be the Captain who professed his unquenchable desire for the extermination of the Xenos.

"Ten battle brothers have been taken from us... Many of our ships have been damaged... Even Mortarions pride, the Entropic, has been thus contaminated! We face a new enemy in a new, uncharted point in the universe. Here Humanity exists side by side with blasphemous Xenos psykers who wield blades of heretical energy... We were called on by our brother Legions to help eradicate the Orkoid menace. But we have found a new target. This splinter of the Emperors people will be compliant or they will be erased alongside their Xenos conspirators. Let the Reapers blade be brought to this galaxy!"


	6. Fugax Momentum Chapter 5 Epilogue

**Coruscant**

"This emergency council of the Jedi is now in session." The Nemoidian's words rang out in the cramped minimalist chamber set deep within the confines of the Jedi temple. The rounded architecture and calming tones of the decor quite at odds with the discussion about to take place there. Hasta Salamar, Nemoidian Jedi master, took his seat in the darkened room. Several other Jedi, many with their features obscured by their hoods, took their own seats. "Word has reached us, via appropriately encrypted channels, of an incident in the outer rim." These words sent a murmur of discontent around the assembled Jedi.

Hasta Salamar continued. "It would seem our forces were engaged, and promptly forced into a retreat, by a hitherto undiscovered strain of the Human species. Those ships that effected a retreat were able to reach Republic space although our forces onboard are believed to have been... eradicated." The assembled Jedi contemplated the implications of Salamars words. One of them, a hooded Zabrak ventured a question. "Have we inspected the ships? Is there anything to be learnt of these aggressors?" Salamar was denied a chance to answer when another of the Jedi called out. "Why have we been assembled in place of the high council? What does Master Yoda say of this?" Salamar raised a gloved hand and quieted the commotion. He was aware that many among his peers thought he was prone to acting above his station, but this time was different. This time, he had authority.

"A disturbance in the Force has called the Grand Master to meditation. Before his self imposed seclusion he assigned me with investigating the matter further. I have chosen you to act as my right hand." Though the Jedi present gave no indication Salamar could feel their displeasure at his being appointed their superior. He savoured the feeling. "The recovered ships have been... quarantined by the Grand Army of the Republic under order of the Supreme Chancellor. So I think it is safe to assume this new enemies impact has been significant. We are to travel to a highly secure military base here on Coruscant to assist in the Republic investigation. I do not think I need to say but allowing for incompetence I shall. This task is to be shrouded in secrecy. Until the origins and motivations of these aggressors can be determined we must act cautiously. Now start preparations and may the Force be with us all.


	7. Fugax Momentum Chapter 6

**Fugax Momentum - The Plebian Tribune**

Over the proceeding weeks drifting through space Bolkar, and the Mechanicum adept known as Rictate, had forged quite a bond. As close a thing to friendship as could be found between beings separated by such vast gulfs of culture and belief. A Death Guard Astartes with a flair for the technological and a maverick agent of the Mechanicum with a fascination with the lives of organics. It had taken some time for the Astartes to get over the hideous jester grin spread over the adepts face. A smile so wide that it threatened to tear itself apart in the corners. After some questioning Bolkar learned the adept, in his ceaseless quest to understand those he deemed "unenhanced", had elected to keep the trueborn flesh of the lower portion of his face. After observing the unenhanced in their native habitat he detected a curious habit of theirs. To exhibit their emotion through their faces. Noting the calming effect of the expression, the unenhanced termed the "smile", had on them Rictate had his own installed. Bolkar had toyed with telling the wayward cyborg that the three green orbs in place of eyes combined with that constricted grin surely had the opposite effect on mortals but had decided against it.

Bolkar had learnt much by the adepts side. It had been ordained by his superiors that he would be sent to live among the Mechanicum but in these depths that seemed like the kind of dreaming that was unbecoming of an Astartes. Bolkar was comforted by the notion that he and Rictate had been summoned to the Captains chamber. Since their clash with the Republic, Captain Grendel had not summoned anyone to his abode save for Sabahn his manservant. It was with barely concealed glee that Bolkar strode down the corridors of the Entropic, chirping mechanics emanating from his mechanised compatriot, threading their way through the ship towards answers.

Bolkars cheer was immediately dispersed when they turned a corner to be greeted by the sight of the ships Apothecary. "A sight that could sour any mans mood." Thought the Astartes. Not that Bolkar didn't like the Apothecary. Quite the contrary. Aside from the Captain there were few more respected marines in the 49th Expedition fleet. But there was something about the oppressively dour demeanour of the ships senior medical practitioner that seemed to drain the lustre from life itself. It was times like these that Bolkar saw everything in Turgis that the other legions saw in the Death Guard. Others among their number speculated he had inherited more of Mortarion than any of them. And since the captain first refused to answer his questions weeks ago, had stood posted outside his chamber seemingly day and night so as to grab his commanders attentions as immediately as possible.

"Hmph I did not know that the adepts of the Mechanicum were permitted to keep pets." Turgis growled in his almost theatrically thick Barbarun accent. "What brings such milquetoast to the captains quarter?"

"Simmer down Turgis. Didn't the captain order you to confine your bed side manner to those actually confined in beds?" Bolkars retort cut deep. It would surprise no one to find out that Turgis had also inherited the Primarchs sense of humour. "I have been placed on compulsory recuperative leave. Your new master did a butchers job reuniting me with my lower half. Though you remind me. Apologies Bolkar, for the teeth I loosened during my operation." The Apothecary continued, doing an uncharacteristically good job of concealing his choler.

"But do not worry... I shall be recovered in time to perform your next examinations personally. Now why do a Martian and his lapdog seek this old Apothecary out. I will be seeing the Captain shortly." Turgis's blatant dismissal of the pair only heightened Bolkar's anticipation. "But, my charming friend, we have been summoned." The silence that was left in reply to Bolkar's statement was all that he needed to hear to know his words rankled the Apothecary.

As Bolkar pressed the panel that would open the doors to Captain Grendel's chamber Rictate was careful to leave a little extra room between himself and the Apothecary before crossing the threshold. Turgis was evidently still somewhat bitter at the days of convalescing at the behest of the Mechanicum agent. His torso suspended day and night in the Medicae while Rictate cut away the flesh too cauterised to be accept reintegration with his lower half. The scowl on his face almost a dark mirror for Rictates own exaggerated grin.

The Captains chamber was oppressively dark, and spartan in the extreme. The few embellishments Grendel had allowed himself were mounted on the opposite wall alongside the Captains armour. The Diptera like compound eyes on the helmet seemed to stare at Bolkar as he looked on. Weapons of great destructive power and artifice stood alongside equipment far too small for use by a member of the Astartes. The apparent discrepancy between the varying sizes had engaged the logic protocols buried within Rictates cranium. Bolkar made a note to himself to enlighten the Mechanicum adept at a later date. Few outside the legion would recognise the story told through the weapons on the Captains wall. A story of pain and despair that began as a child choking down the foul fumes of their abominable home world. It was a story few but the most veteran soldiers in the 49th Expedition would know.

Bolkars rememberance was cut short by the Captain. "In all my years fighting for the Reaper Lord I have found but one enemy we cannot outlast. And against it we lock blades once more. Can you guess its name Bolkar?" The young Astartes paused for a moment. Surprised by the sudden question from his Captain. Without leaving time for an answer the Captain continued. "It is "Time" Bolkar..." While Rictate listened intently, Bolkars eye was caught by movement in the darkness. In any other situation the Space Marine would have snapped his pistol to his sight line in response. But Bolkar knew nothing dangerous could linger undetected in the presence of the esteemed Captain Grendel. Detested by most of the Death Guard, Sabahn the Housecarl, had taken to hiding away from prying eyes when able. Clearly now, even in the presence of his master, he felt the need to cower. Bolkar snapped to attention once more as the captain proceeded with his pontifications.

"Our Navigator weeps in his blindness. Our Astropaths claw at their skulls just to end the silence, and we Astartes creep through the unknown deaf and blind because of it. I have summoned you both here to assess the munitions situation lest we find ourselves toothless as well. Even though the lickspittle soldiers of this "Republic" may crash and break upon our forms as waves on rocks. Without support we will be broken down." The Captain took his time with his words. His speech taking on the quality of a father talking to a son. "Sire?" Bolkar retorted. Unsure where the Captains line of reasoning was heading. "Do you know why I captain the Entropic and our cheerful comrade Turgis reigns as the most dour Apothecary in the Great Crusade? For truly he embodies the ideals of the Death Guard more so than any save our Gene Father."

There were a few moments of aching silence before Bolkar replied. "I do not know sire." The smoky darkness of the chamber hung thick in the air as the Angels of the Emperor conversed. Grendel considered his reply before proceeding. "Because he would steer the entire legion into the fiery heart of a sun if Mortarion commanded him to quench it. Never once taking pause to seek a method beyond smothering it in a sea of bodies. Most think that our brothers in the Alpha Legion are the only ones among us with many faces. But that is a falsehood. Even our Primarchs brothers in perfection are unable to see past the Death Lords uncompromising sense of duty. To see that there is more than just a mindless desire to grind the Imperiums enemies to dust beneath his heel. And Just as surely as we are our fathers sons so to are we more than simply the slow grinding death that comes in the night. And that is what we must be now. More than the Red Angels mindless war dogs. More than the choking darkness that haunts the night with Curze. We are the Death Guard. Named so because not even death. That universal constant that comes for all men, can be allowed to stop us."

"The others call for battle. They call for their captain to take the last shard of our fleet and drive it into the throats of the Republic. To rain down upon them like the acidic downpours of Barbarus. To spend the last of our strength in battle so fierce, that when Mortarion at last holds the remains of his lost sons. He will look upon a galaxy smote to such ruin that he will not suffer the bitter taste of the Death of his children, but drink in the sweet wine of the death of a heathen empire."

"Our brothers know this too even if they sometimes forget in the throes of their desire to live up to our fathers expectations. The fact I have not forgotten is why I enjoy the Reapers favour. Even if he never tires of hearing tales of Turgis's exploits. But though in my heart I can think of no such sweeter end for us. I intend to bask in the Primarchs cold glory once more. And that is why you are both here."

"We have located a nearby planet. Scans reveal it to be all but devoid of organic life. Suitable for short term habitation. I seek answers as to whether the Mechanicum cohort upon our vessels have the capability to produce munitions and enact repairs swiftly enough to keep up with the demands of a Death Guard fleet. Wounded though it is."

The poignancy of Grendels words resonated within Bolkar, stealing his attention with sentiment and pride for his legion. They had no such effect on the adept of the Mechanicum. "As I am sure you know the bulk of the 49th Expeditions Mechanicum consorts were already present in the Qart-Hadast sector before our... incident in the warp." The adepts flesh voice was another concession to his human side. A curious affectation not found in the majority of his ilk. "But I think it is possible that, with modifications, our shipboard manufactorum could be retrofitted to suit the Expeditions needs. With sufficient time."

This answer seemed to appease the Captain. Though his expression could not be read in the gloom. Bolkar stood as perfectly still as the Mechanicum agent, a testament to Death Guard discipline. "Then it is decided. We make for planet... Hmm. It would seem, in this unknown we are no longer a part of the Great Crusade and therefore no longer part of the 49th Expeditionary Fleet. We are a legion apart and a chapter unto ourselves. Truly a lost Legion... Who was the first of the Emperors own to fall?" Bolkar's mind raced in an attempt to drag the answer to the fore but was interrupted when the Mechanicus Agent blurted out "Krassus. Sire."

It rankled him that that an outsider could sooner recall the name of a treasured battle brother faster than himself but Bolkar was appreciative of Rictate's many memory enhancing upgrades. "Then let this planet be named in our fallen brothers honour, and at battles end we shall take the cups in his memory."


	8. Fugax Momentum Chapter 7

**Breaching the Nimbus**

The bridge of the Entropic was ablur with activity. Grey robed menials vied alongside grey skinned servitors to enact the will of the Captain. Grendel was standing, better to observe the activity around him. Though the bridge was thrumming with the reverberations of the crew, the bridge of the Entropic was quieter than it had been in a decade. After his self imposed exile Captain Grendel's first action was to assign his oldest friend, and perpetual nuisance, the Apothecary Turgis to supervise the recovery of the newly promoted Ghorgios Szezilaak. During the clash with the Xenos the ranking Astartes aboard the Surkhast had been vaporised. As such Captain Grendel had seen fit to place Szezilaak behind the helm. In truth Grendel had no such fears for the cauterised Space Marine's recovery, Szezilaaks tenacity was almost as renowned among the fleet as the Apothecaries, but Turgis' constant hounding and questions had become too much for even the legendary endurance of a Death Guard captain.

That hadn't stopped him from commandeering the vox systems aboard the Surkhast. "It taunts us Captain! The fastest way past an enemy is through its heart. Mortarion told us that as children, Grendel. It would be no good to start ignoring fathers words now." Barked the Apothecary referring to the cyclopean nebula that stretched beyond sight before the fleet. The Lost Legion, as the crew of the Entropic had begun to refer to themselves, had sat arrayed at high anchor for many hours as the logic engines and cogitators calculated the dimensions of the Nebula that lay ahead. The oculus of the Entropic was a swirling mass of orange and purple before the granite grey of the Death Guard. This was the most colour the interior of the Entropic had seen since the last time Grendel had ordered a shipboard execution.

Whilst Rictate had sequestered himself in his quarters in preparation for the Captains ambitious move towards autarky, Bolkar had been an almost permanent feature of the bridge. "It could take weeks to circumnavigate my Lord. And our scanners and communications will not be able to penetrate the Nebula. We will be in the dark." Bolkar's advice had become the primary source of council taken by the Captain since his decision to make planet fall. The young Astartes seemed to grasp the logistics of a mechanised warfleet with a zeal completely unknown in the rest of his men. As such Grendels hesitance to steer the entirety of his forces into a stellar phenomena that would leave him with, zero communication and even less visibility, was a source of confusion to rest of the soldiers under his command. The warp sensitive among them had still not shaken themselves from the fugue cast over them since their separation from the Empyrean, and would provide no aid this time.

"If we can maintain our current heading we should emerge in three days." Bolkar stated from his position looming over one of the mortals bridge side workstations. "Emperor damn these sub light speeds. Turgis... it looks like you are right. Helmsman? Into the Nebula!" The shuddering of the ship meshed perfectly with the static laced buzz that was the Apothecary chuckling in response to the Captains order. As one, the Lost Legion speared forth into the unknown. "I shall see you all in three days time." Said the Captain as the sensors and vox systems went dark.


	9. Fugax Momentum Chapter 8

**Hidden Transmissions**

The errant light of the hologram bathed the private communications deck of Trade Baron Sukha Hapto in an ephemeral blue glow. Despite the flaring azure now flooding the room the subject in question was all but unidentifiable. This sapped the confidence of an already cowardly specimen of a cowardly species. The Nemoidians had risen to hegemony over the Trade Federation on the laurels of their skill with trade and commerce. Not from their confidence and surety of action. The shivers of apprehension were not missed by the Trade Barons personal assistant. Having been being groomed to one day take the middle aged Barons place Noton Dol had come to know his mentor exceedingly well. Well enough now to recognise how the Baron masked trepidation with indignation. This transition from the back foot to the front was enough to rekindle what little admiration Noton had for his master.

Nothing approaching friendship existed between them. In fact Noton could not stand the Trade Baron. In all truth Nemoidians felt much the same as any other species about their own kind. Conniving and untrustworthy. But admiration for the tricks and manipulations of the Trade could be found lurking beneath the years of resentment and mistrust. Though its impact would likely be squandered on the apparition before them the robes chosen by the Baron screamed, in the vestmental language unique to the Nemoidians, authority and intimidation. Subtle measure like that were, after all, why Sukha Hapto had become the youngest Trade Baron within the Federation in almost a thousand cycles.

Noton Dol was snapped out of his reverie when the Trade Baron spoke first. A move that according to Nemoidian commerce etiquette was akin to committing authoritative suicide. But even with only silence between them it was clear that whoever was broadcasting this communication was not one to be underestimated. "This is an undisclosed Trade Federation channel. How did you discover this frequency? Where is Count Dooku?"

The hologrammatic spectre in the centre of the room let the words hang in the air. A few keenly felt seconds ticked by prompting the virtually imperceptible shivers to return to the Baron. Whomsoever this mystery broadcaster was, using unassailable Trade Federation communication codes, he was intimidating. And whether deliberately or not he was wielding Nemoidian convention and commerce culture at least as well as the Baron in training. His every manoeuvre an effortless gamble in an unseen game of Nemoidian Dejarik. Though Noton could not be certain, he was sure that shrouded deep within that impenetrable hood the unknowable features of the projection had twisted into a smile. When it finally replied it did so from a position of utmost control, seemingly ready to use and cast aside the entire Trade Federation as readily as converse with it.

"The Count is indisposed... I appear before you to bring a warning in his stead." Ominous tidings from an ominous stranger was the last thing Sukha Hapto had wished to hear. "Warn us? Are you Sith?" Though the Baron had taken every care to disguise the uneasiness in his voice but the figure had clearly picked up upon it. Even the patterns woven expertly into the creatures cloak stung the Nemoidians with its implied indignation even if the wearer did not realise it.

"Am I Sith? Perhaps. But I come to you now as a simple administrator, here to check up on a few of the Counts assets." The implication that the Trade Federation was simply another of the inscrutable Count's assets was biting. "The Count has sensed a disturbance in the force entering the Aegean Nebula. A disturbance consistent with the proximity of a new hyper violent strain of the Human species."

In the face of such an apparently meagre threat Sukha had found his backbone. "Ha! What do we have to fear from a few mindless Humans. Our Tibanna mining facility is hidden safely within the Aegean and we sit above one of the greatest battle droid production facility the galaxy has ever known!"

"Hmph. Feckless bureaucrats! You are being warned because the Count does not wish to see the Trade Federation ravaged by xenocidal Humanocentrist crusaders! Now be ready. We may still yet turn these new comers to our advantage and remember. The Sith will compensate you... generously. For any of our new friends remanded into to our custody."

With that final declaration the hologram disappeared leaving the room to slide back into inky darkness for a few moments, before the lumen strips flared to life to compensate. The Trade Baron turned to his aid. "Power up the scanners. Apparently we have guests." The advance scanners on the Trade Federation Lucrehulk - Class battleship flared to life. Flashing glyphs had begun to infect virtually every screen on the bridge when the Trade Baron ordered the charging of the forward lasers. Sukha Hapto stood in the centre of the bridge at all times. All the better to observe the goings on of his command. Or so he told his underlings. But in reality it was just another gambit in a long line of the Nemoidian bureaucracies application of business etiquette to battleship command. The truth was that Hapto could make neither heads nor tails of the displays dotted around him, but he knew well that his subordinates would work all the harder knowing he was in position to observe them in perpetuity.

"Assets sighted commander. Five ships in a crescent pattern. Their current trajectory will see them make planet fall on Seku Nemoidia in less than three days." shrilled the mechanised voice of one of the low ranking Nemoidians at one of the scanning terminals. Noton Dol immediately slinked closer and bent double over the readout scanning it for any possible errors. Dol was not about to let the military inexperience of his commander lead to the destruction of a vessel he himself had designs to one day captain. "Good good. Have they detected our presence?" Called the Baron. "They appear to possess no scanning technology capable of piercing the Nebula." Replied the subordinate. "How favourable. Target the most isolated ship and prepare to fire."

Just as the black robed terminal operator made to answer Noton Dol interjected. "My esteemed Trade Baron. May I offer an alternative to the direct fire of the forward batteries?" Slighted by the implication that one among them may be more qualified to handle the situation than he the Barons reply was curt. "What is this alternative that you deem so important?" Noton Dol exuded an unnemoidianly level of confidence when he spoke. In Nemoidian circles the Barons aid was thought of as a bit of an outsider. A maverick within his own culture. What was seen as useless to the Trade Federation before the outbreak of the Clone War had, however, become a valuable commodity since. Dol had studied military command since his post larval state and had reached a level of competency virtually unseen amongst his race. "One of the enemy assets will pass us through of a sizeable tract of Tibanna gas. If we were to focus our fire through said gas the resulting energy output would be staggering. If it did not destroy the ship outright it would certainly find itself crippled."

The elder Nemoidian stood motionless for a moment. The momentary stillness of the bridge had assured him that everyone in the ships command chamber had not only heard his second in commands idea, but had weighed it as greater than his own. Anger and fear squirted through his system as he simultaneously toyed with the idea of throwing his most recent aid out of the airlock whilst seeing his own demotion in favour of the bright assistant. "Why... What an excellent strategy. It is fortunate I thought of it in time..." Another moment of stillness ensued. "Yes captain. Fortunate." Noton Dol turned back to the readouts deflated.

The troublesome thoughts of moments prior soon departed the Trade Barons mind. It was bad business to be bested by an underling. But it was worse business to ignore a favourable strategy. No matter the source. "Now charge those forward batteries and target that Tibanna field!"


	10. Fugax Momentum Chapter 9

**Crossing the Aegean**

By the time Turgis had reached the main deck of the Surkast the ship was lost, though the frantic men and women manning the Sword Class frigate didn't know it yet. After muscling past the wide eyed and frothing menials who streamed in and out of the bridge Turgis looked upon the very definition of chaos. Three of the mortal deckhands lay dead. Cooked alive on their feet. One servitor sat seizing at its post as the pickups and transmissions embedded within its brain began to swell from the heat. For the first time since the almost entire eradication of his skin Brother Sergeant Ghiorgos Szezilaak was ensconced within his power armour and howling orders at the top of his gene enhanced lungs. Ghiorgos Szezilaak was a talented and experienced commander. But at almost half the age of the grizzled Apothecary there was still much for him to learn.

Turgis had learnt the tell tale shiver that shot down a starships nerves when its shields were lost. The tell tale shiver that had run down the ships spine only moments ago. Without breaking his stride the Apothecary made a beeline for the captain of the vessel shouldering past any crazed shipsmen as he went. Along with the obscene heat pouring into the vessel and a consistent pounding of enemy weapons fire the vacuum was being filtered in through the swiftly rupturing outer layers of the ship. "Ah Apothecary! There are wounded to tend..." Szezilaaks words were cut off when the medical practitioner grabbed him by the top of the pauldron and started to haul him from his post.

"What in the Primarchs name are you doing!?" Screamed the captain even as he struggled against the vice like grip of the medicine man, his boots screeching as they ground over the ceramite flooring. "We are under attack! We need to inform Grendel and the rest of the fleet!"

"Communications are down." Turgis exclaimed as he continued his hauling of the scorched Astartes. "But if we reroute auxiliary power to the vox net we may be able to get a signal through!"

"No time." Replied the Apothecary. As the two crossed the threshold back into the bulk of the ship Turgis pointed a finger at one of the Astartes passing by. "You. With us." Despite his position totally lacking in command and authority most of the Death Guard 6th company had learnt to respect the orders of the Apothecary lest they one day find themselves under his less than nurturing care.

By the time the trio had reached the first sub level of the Surkast they were now joined by two other Astartes. Hephestule had come upon them as they passed by the Medicae, Turgis's rightful posting. "Sire, I have been searching for you. How do we make restitutions for the blood of ours they have shed?" It was that very dedication to the pain of their enemies that had prompted Turgis to take the young marine under his wing and the reason he was taking him, along with Szezilaak, and the hardest bastards he could find to the lower levels.

Several times Szezilaak, sick of being hauled around like a child by a soldier technically his inferior, had reached for his bolt pistol to end such insubordination. A shot sharp blow from the back of the Apothecaries hand had dissuaded him from such an action. "If you refuse to release me from your "care" at least enlighten me as to our destination." Called Ghorgios's voice. "Somewhere that we may yet survive this attack." Replied the medic.

"What!? You may wish to escape this carnage but I wish to go down fighting. I wish Mortarion to remember my name with pride!" his speech was punctuated by the thud of powerful weapons lancing through the ship. The slightest change of pressure alerted all the Astartes to the breaching of the Surkast's hull at some point distant from their current location. "We have no shields. Our weapons arrays are in tatters and should your life be claimed, all order aboard the Surkast will be lost anyway." The tingle of rage induced sweat beaded down Szezilaaks neck. "Then run! flee to your precious Captain Grendel and his cherished Entropic. But leave those with a will to defiance stay where softer hearts would tremble!"

Szezilaak had grown accustomed to the lank haired healer ignoring his words but something about his accusatory tone had clearly struck a nerve. Lifting Ghorgios to his face and almost off the ground Turgis had never cut a more imposing figure. "Listen "Sergeant" I didnt remove you from the bridge to preserve your precious chain of command. I took you because you are the toughest son of the Emperor this side of Mortarion. I took you because I know that if I gave you an opportunity to reap our rightful harvest you would give every ounce of your blood and more to take it." Szezilaak was stunned to silence while Turgis spoke. The stale heat of the Apothecaries breath crashing in waves over his face as he listened.

"The ship is lost. But come with me and we shall repay the Republic a thousand times over. Come with me and this galaxy will yet burn!" The Apothecaries words seemed to have an effect on the scorched Astartes. When Turgis took his first gargantuan stride he no longer had to force Szezilaak to follow. "Answer me this then butcher. Where are you leading us?" The words that came next shouldn't have surprised him. But they did none the less. "To the boarding torpedoes."


	11. Fugax Momentum Chapter 10

**Boarding Party - Touchdown**

"Baron. A single escape pod has been jettisoned from the enemy ship!" called one of the deckhands aboard the Trade Federation Lucrehulk. Such news filled the Baron with joy. "It is on a collision course Baron. Preparing to fire." From the corner of his vision Sukha Hapto could just about make out the blip on the view screen that corresponded with the enemy escape vessel. "Ha no. Let them be dashed to pieces against our shields. How long before impact?" There were a few moments of silence before the mechanically enhanced ensign replied.

"Moments, Baron." Said the deckhand a handful of seconds before the dull shudder spread through the ship. But it wasn't the transient sensation of solid matter evaporating upon contact with a ray shield. It was the metal on metal clash of something penetrating their defences. The Trade Baron, turned back to the great banks of displays littering the bridge of his command vessel not fully appreciating the sounds and tremors around him. Noton Dol however could tell something was very wrong. "Illustrious Baron..." He called out in his most indulgent tone. The sensation of barely concealed antipathy crawling over his mottled skin was all the confirmation Noton Dol needed to know he had caught the attentions of his master. "That was no escape pod. We have been boarded."

The grinding journey through the outer layers of the Federation hulk was devastating. In truth the boarding torpedo had almost been destroyed outright during its confrontation with the hulks ray shields. But sturdy Imperial craftwork would win this day. Hundreds aboard the Trade Federation ship were slaughtered as the Astartes ate their way deep into the ship. When the torpedo had finally spent its strength it was barely recognisable as an Imperial craft let alone a vehicle. It was merely a cage with teeth now. By the time the Space Marines had dug their way free of the boarding torpedo's wreckage the alarm had been disseminated to every corner of the vessel. "This way. Our attackers will be here soon. In force..." Growled the Apothecary as he started off down the concourse without the others. As the remaining Astartes made to follow, Ghorgios Szezilaak spoke up. "We should secure the area. Establish fire zones and make our movements from a position of surety. Not go strutting off in search of safety when the enemy could be coming from that very direction!"

Those Astartes requisitioned by Turgis for this party lingered hesitantly as they weighed the legitimate authority of Szezilaak against that of the venerable Apothecary. "Where do you think we are going Ghorgios?." Turgis let his question hang in the air for a moment. "We are going to find them." and with that the Apothecary rounded a corner and passed out of view. His words had been enough and the others were soon in tow. Of the others Turgis only knew two personally. His perpetual tutorling Hephestule, and the molten Szezilaak. Of the remaining two Turgis had performed a lengthy and painful procedure on one and tended to the other in the field but had never shared conversation. Although admittedly the Apothecary graced very few with his conversation.

The Astartes with the limp was Guthrid. And he had mixed feelings about the Apothecary to say the least. On the one hand. He was a venerable hero who embodied the ideals of the legion and was a healer with a sacred duty. On the other hand he had all but ignored his agony as the young soldier lay boiling alive in his searing suit of power armour. The patches of burnt flesh that clung to Guthrid's face echoed the full body burns inflicted upon Szezilaak though far less severe.

The other Astartes was Psorion, another of the rank and file, but with a sense of duty that had made an impression upon the Apothecary. As another of the Astartes who took part in the boarding of the Republic ship it was a surprise for Turgis to see his face and armour so unmarred by the recent battle. That had been a black mark when the Apothecary had begun assembling his cadre. The Apothecary believed that one of the Death Guard could only be truly considered so with a body hidden beneath a rich tapestry of scars. The healer continued his journey through the bowels of the enemy ship, now joined by the others. Thus far neither Turgis nor those under his command had detected even the most remote signs of life. "A craft of such size should be teeming with life forms." Ventured Psorion from the back. "I do not like this." he added echoing the sentiments of his brothers. Stalking through the enormous vessel like rats in a maze did not suit the Death Guard and their frustration was beginning to tell.

"They should be all over us." spake Psorion with his characteristic Terran accent. The only non Barbarun who was aboard the Surkhast was perhaps the most talkative Astartes in the fleet. Perhaps even the legion. Turgis was beginning to regret commandeering his life. "Do you think they flee?" said the Terran. Clearly aiming his question to Szezilaak. The Terran's among the expedition were far more inclined to follow official chains of command than those born in the Primarchs cradle and found it difficult to ignore it in favour of the quasi tribal respects paid to certain members of the legion by the others. There would be no time for an answer. The medicine man had forged ahead once more and disappeared from view as he navigated the vessel. The icy pain of Human emotion shot through the venerable Astartes system. Neural pathways that had not been used since before the implantation of the gene seed flared to life in response to what now confronted him.

"...Abominable Intelligence."


	12. Fugax Momentum Chapter 12

**Boarding Party - Radiant Darkness**

It had been years since Captain Grendel had spent so much time travelling at sub light speeds. So long in fact it seemed unusual to the marine to see anything but the shimmering of Gellar fields and unknowable incomprehensibilities through the oculus of the Entropic. That being said there was a touch of the Warp in the appearance of the Aegean nebula. Something about the twisting and turning gaseous colours melding with one another one second and disentangling with an almost tidal rhythm seemed to echo that of the Empyrean, but with a predictability unseen within the sea between worlds. In all truth such contemplations were usually beneath Grendel. He would normally be busying himself with some other utilitarian pursuit more becoming of the Death Guard but with the total communications block between his ships he was relishing the stillness aboard the Entropic. Doubtless Turgis would be beaming transmission after transmission through the Nebula in an attempt to extract what ever ephemeral parcel of knowledge he desired this time thought the Captain.

A ghost of a smile graced the Astartes's lips as he continued his reflections. Though he loved the older Space Marine, Captain Grendel had grown concerned with the Apothecaries increasing willingness to ignore direct commands. In truth the two had been as brothers since even before the Emperor discovered his blessed son. They had been but children when Mortarion made his existence known to the choking peasants of Barbarus. But by the time the Imperium of man extended its hegemony to the effluent wreathed planet, Turgis' body had aged too completely to receive the Geneseed. It was only the direct command of Mortarion himself that had secured the future healers place among the Neophyte trials. Words that spoke of the teens unassailable fortitude and the valour he displayed before the Primarchs arrival in his village. Even with such laurels wreathing the Apothecaries head he was becoming a problem for the Captain. His constant insubordination subverting Grendels own authority.

The Captains reverie was broken by a sudden shudder of turbulence. With the blindness of their sensorium and the warp touched among their crew Grendel had watched the view ports through the Oculus personally. Hoping against hope to catch some telltale sign of his brothers in arms sailing by his side through the nebula. No such portent had made itself known. Waves of turbulence had began some time ago but without clear skies the Entropic was unable to detect its cause. It would be almost a full two days before they would be able to know with any certainty. The thought of his brothers both sworn and through battle being lost and without aid caused his blood to run cold. One boon however, in this superstition filled anachronistic universe, was that the chronometers functioned more precisely here than they ever had in the realms native to the Astartes.

Grendel pushed all such sour thoughts from his mind. Even though the fleet had nothing but time he would not devote his intellect to worrying. Thus far he had ordered Bolkar and Rictate to perform no less than three munitions inventories aboard the Entropic. The Captain would not be caught unprepared when his capital ship erupted from the Nebula. Asides from munitions checks Grendel had made sure that all possible tactical information pertaining to the Republic had been dispersed among all the crew. Astartes or otherwise.

Another worry for the Captain was the condition of both the ships Navigator and the Astropathic choir. The unforseen conflict with the Republic armada had forced the Captain to ignore their plight while he commanded his forces. Now, days later, the Navigator had calmed though he had taken to feeling his way around as though blind despite the persisting presence of his two natural born eyes. The Astropaths were another story entirely. The screaming that still emanated from their quarters dissuaded the Captain from ordering their presence upon the bridge. In truth all among the crew had felt some sense of "wrongness" upon departing the Empyrean and arriving in this unknown galaxy. The keening impression of what such Warp attuned beings must be experiencing, after their separation from their extra senses, prompting the Captain to allow them at least unto the fleets exit from the nebula before demanding they return to their duties.

Despite the maladies afflicting the fleet Grendel remained defiant. Lost adrift in an alien galaxy or not they were still Astartes. They still carried the banner of the Emperor of all Mankind and they would bring the light of Imperial Truth to this reprobate territory. Grendel's only concern was how they would do it. Thus far there had been no sign of communication with their native space. The warp it would seem had been completely cut off from them. The Captain had almost been persuaded to try re entering the warp. But following his gene fathers course Grendel put little trust in the fickle tides of the warp. "Patience is the Death Guard way" thought the Captain as he continued his ruminations.


	13. Fugax Momentum Chapter 13

**Sukha Hapto - Send in the droids**

"Send in the droids. And commence charging of the forward laser batteries!" exhorted the Trade Baron. The efficiency with which his underlings scurried back and forth to enact his will was impressive. The sudden shock of an enemy boarding action disappapeared when the Baron's Financial Officer revealed that the enemy ship had only survived long enough to unleash one boarding craft before its structural integrity had deserted it. Spilling its humanoid cargo into the merciless currents of the Nebula. The signal that would call the Lucrehulks contingent of battle droid defenders to action had been broadcast with his last order. Now over ten percent of the three hundred thousand B1 Battle droids aboard the ship were engaged and ready to subdue the interlopers. According to his own imprecise calculations the first wave of droids would be reaching the enemy shortly.

Sukha Hapto had fought Humans. He had fought Clones. Sukha Hapto had even fought against Jedi in his illustrious career as a Trade Baron. Not personally of course. No in all of his years of authority within the Trade Federation, both before the outbreak of the Clone Wars and after, he had never once been engaged in personal combat. Ofcourse this was seen as a virtue among his own people and one of many reasons for his continued captaincy of so venerable a ship. But such lack of personal experience had bred a sort of detached complacency within the Baron. A sense of removal from the battlefield that did nothing to aid his acumen orchestrating the destruction of other life forms.

Fortunately that was not a failing shared by his Financial Officer. From the instant the enemy craft had penetrated their shields Noton Dol had been on high alert. The Trade Baron's self absorbed reverie would not damn this entire ship thought the Financial Officer. If the Baron wanted to busy himself with thoughts of riches and power so be it. Such recklessness may result in his death. But that would only bring Dol one step closer to realising his own dreams. The second in command had surreptitiously taken command of the unfolding conflict. If these invaders were deadly enough for the mysterious "administrator" to broadcast a signal warning the Federation of their arrival. Noton Dol would leave no chance for them to gain the upper hand.

"Not enough" he thought as he activated the glyphs upon the console to his front that would rouse the Nemoidian guard to deployment. Taking another second to assess the damage caused by the enemy entry he thought to err on the side of caution. All forces able to enact shipside combat would be activated. Adapting another excerpt from the principles of Nemoidian business strategy to warfare Noton Dol refused to have the others aboard the ship learn he was marshalling their entire contingent for battle. Nemoidians could not be trusted. Even by other Nemoidians. If word escaped the command deck that such forces were being assembled before battle with the enemy was even joined, it would soon pass beyond the confines of the ship and spread like a virus through the Trade Federation. The other Barons would use such loss of face as leverage and both the Baron and his Financial Officer could find themselves as menials aboard a lower class of vessel. Unless the threat posed by the enemy turned out to be much greater than the Trade Baron had anticipated. Then Dol's forsight could see him move closer than ever to promotion. Especially on an errand where the Sith were involved.

With the self indulgent prattling of the Baron left aboard the bridge Noton Dol was confident that his... that the Barons forces, were well prepared. Thanks to the Nebula the interlopers ships had not detected the onset of combat, leaving the Trade Federation ample time to ensure the capture or destruction of their new visitors. It had only been Noton's feigned incompetence that had delayed the Trade Baron from opening fire on the rest of the enemies ships. With the interlopers travelling at such low speeds they had all the time in the Galaxy to isolate and destroy each individual element of the enemy fleet. If only the Trade Baron could be persuaded to hold off. But then again Sukha Hapto had never attained a strong grasp of military understanding. Noton would urge patience in the Baron and the enemy would be dismantled piece by piece as though it were simply another recent acquisition of the Trade Federation, being liquefied, and having its assets spread throughout the Federations sphere of influence.

"We will destroy these invaders and..." The Barons ministrations were cut short when one of the menials called out. "Battalions Aurek through Isk offline Baron."

"Then send in the Nemoidian Guard!" The Baron replied clearly perturbed at having his speech interrupted. "As I was saying. We will destroy these invaders and earn the favour of Count Dooku. The Trade Federation will extend its hegemony over the Confederacy of Independent Systems and before long not only will the Free Trade Zones fall under our..."

"Nemoidian Guard battalions offline sir."

"Well then dispatch the Droidikas!" Replied the Baron. "Incompetent fool. Not only will the Free Trade Zones fall under our control but we will earn the favour of the count. Soon we will have completed our acquisition of the foundry planet from our hated rivals. With the acquisition of this new purse world from the bugs we have put ourselves one step abo..."

"D-Droidikas offline sir."

"My finances... They defeated the Droidikas." The Trade Barons lung pods began to compulsively expand and contract. "C-cease charging the forward lasers. We... must not risk the ire of more of these interlopers." The warning of the mysterious transmission rang in Sukha Hapto's head even as he called his Financial Officer to his side.

Noton Dol was yet to take a share in the Barons fear. This would be his chance to show all aboard the hulk that he was the one to be looked to in times of crisis. That the current Baron was simply a nepotistic figurehead and that he should rightly captain the vessel. In truth the Financial Officer had formulated several strategies for subduing their attackers but was yet to share them with his commander. Better to let the Baron make a fool of himself as he struggled against the impotency of the forces beneath him. "Yes my most illustrious Baron. What is your command?" Another barb of Nemoidian etiquette. Forcing the Baron to take action or appear powerless in front of the entire crew. There were a few moments of delectable silence while the Baron tried to find an answer that would not highlight his ineptitude. "I am placing you in charge of humbling these invaders. Failure will result in your termination and liquidation." The almost imperceptible straightening of the Barons back a clear sign to the observant among them that the Trade Baron was preparing himself a patsy. The ostentatious headwear of the Trade Baron swayed slightly as he spoke.

Despite the lingering threat behind the Barons command Noton Dol was exactly where he wanted to be. When the interlopers were in chains there would be no question as to who was responsible. The Financial Officer performed an incredibly deep and courteous bow before excusing himself from the bridge. Making sure that his own modest headwear dropped to at least below the Trade Barons chest. Noton Dol was unusually large for a Nemoidian. Not a giant by any means but tall enough to threaten the Barons sense of superiority. A fact attested to by the increasingly large headpieces worn by the Baron as their partnership dragged on.

Braver and more competent than the majority of his ilk or not Noton Dol was still disinclined to take risks that would seem acceptable to the lesser species standards. He would proceed to the level above the one that the combat was currently unfolding but would be defended by an honour guard of at least three thousand droids. So far their B1's had been as nought but powder beneath the tread of the enemy. Even the Droidikas had been defeated but thanks to the damage caused by the incoming enemy craft they were unable to assess the damage remotely. The interlopers had forged a path some distance through the ship but had thus far been unable to escape the level upon which they had been deposited.

Even as he continued to his preferred command point Noton Dol attempted to pre-empt the enemies motives. They were not fighting their way towards any logical area of the ship. The engines were far below and the helm above. It appeared that they were simply running an extermination mission. "Five men cleansing the life of an entire ship? Impossible." He thought. But then again these unknown humanoids had destroyed over fivehundred battle droids alongside a complement of destroyer droids. This was all irrelevant to Noton Dol however. Militaristic as he was, the ranking Financial Officer aboard the hulk was not about to squander enough droids to conquer a small planet just for the sake of a few invaders. No Noton Dol had a better idea. One that would showcase his talents and preserve the bulk of his forces.

As far as the Financial Officer was concerned the boarders were to be considered at least as dangerous as Jedi. The chaos that had spread throughout the mid levels of the ship was a testament to this fact. By the time Noton Dol had reached his predetermined strong point, and deployed his honour guard to his own personal defence, the interlopers had fought their way into a position most fortuitous to the Nemoidian. Activating the comms channel Noton Dol announced his first order. "Seal off levels 36 through 42. Unleash the Dioxis."


	14. Fugax Momentum Chapter 14

**Boarding Party - AI**

The eruption of fire started within seconds of the two parties coming into first contact. Turgis was the first to open fire, Szezilaak the second. The artificial constructs of the Trade Federation were scrapped in moments. Their light weight chassis providing virtually no resistance to the grenade sized projectiles fired by the Astartes. Mechanical heads and arms lay scattered across the floor and crushed underfoot as the boarding party pushed forwards. They were outnumbered but the paltry weapons of the constructs were virtually ineffective against the armour of the Space Marines. Only the focussed fire and tightly drilled manouvers of the Republic clones had allowed them to resist the Astartes for more than a few paltry moments. Oxymoronicly these constructs lacked the precision of the biological soldiers Turgis had been stomping to paste not long ago.

The first pocket of enemy constructs had been dismantled in moments. Bolt rounds penetrating several ranks deep before detonating within the armour plating of the cheaply constructed enemy automatons. "Our position has been discovered." exclaimed Brother Sergeant Szezilaak "We must move forward." He continued. Without word the entire group surged forth as one. The very lack of confrontation between the two erstwhile leaders of the formation an indicator of the groups growing cohesion. "Brothers are made in battle." Thought the Apothecary as he reflected upon the first words uttered unto him upon his first meeting with his Primarch.

It had always been his intention to force his cadre into battle at the first opportunity. His brother Astartes had never been the kind to place their misgivings before their duty and Turgis required his men to follow his lead. The glowering acceptance in Szezilaak's eyes when the Apothecary looked back was all he needed to see to know the Brother Sergeant had accepted his place. The silence that had overcome the Astartes since the discovery of their newest enemies front line soldiers had yet to abate. The wordless understanding that they were now locked in combat, with an ancient enemy of man kind, was second only in gravity to the realisation that the planet that served as the fleets destination might not be as devoid of intelligence as they had previously assessed.

"We must get warning to Grendel." Growled the Apothecary as they continued on. Hephestule barked his assent eager to reinforce his tutors authority. "I had thought to simply exterminate all aboard this filthy vessel. But there is no pain to be inflicted upon wires and bolts. We will locate the enemy sensorium and attempt to send word to the Entropic." said he as they continued their sojourn through Lucrehulk. The hard bastards of the Death Guard had destroyed several battle groups of the enemy machines as they crossed the width of the craft. They had been thus far confronted by no less than three different varieties of adversary. The presence of Xenos among them forgotten, smothered, under the realisation that the enemy made such heavy use of forbidden technologies. By now the Astartes were showing the signs of battle. Proud badges of combative honour etched in the gouges and scores across both their armour and exposed faces.

The restrictive size of a space craft designed for creatures no taller than six human feet failed to inhibit the Space Marines movement through the vessel. The patrols of enemy constructs had died down now. "They fear us." The Apothecary said to himself with relish even as the others came to the same conclusion. Suddenly the flare of scorched oxygen filled the air around Turgis's face. The large bulkhead door at the end of the corridor towards which they now marched was opening. The muzzles of las blasters protruding through the widening gap as more and more flares of energy lanced forward striking the Space Marines across their armour. A single lock of lank grey hair was evaporated as the Apothecary twisted from the path of an oncoming blast.

Pressing the advantage Turgis mag holstered his bolt pistol, drew his power knife and powered forwards. The Hagen pattern Narthecium attached to his right gauntlet bellowing its anger as it schreeched to life. The others followed with no command. Bolt rounds reaping a terrible harvest among the tightly packed AI's. When the Astartes reached the bulkhead door, which was almost fully open by now, there was hell in space. Where as the Clone Troopers deployed by the Republic had reacted quickly when confronted with the terrifying splendour of the Astartes fighting in close quarters, ducking and rolling, falling back and attempting to regroup, the constructs merely kept fighting. What ever "intelligence" that guided them not living up to its name.

Wading through the bristling las blasters and skeletal constructs the Astartes found themselves in a great chamber. Attached via cables and platforms to the ceiling of the enormous space were what appeared to be fighter crafts. Stowed and ready for some invasion no doubt. The fact that this was an embarkation deck was dawning upon the group in unison. The ease with which the Astartes carved through the enemy had prompted Gutthrid to forgo the use of his weapons and simply lay about himself with his fists. Oh that these were living creatures and could suffer for their mistakes he thought as he crushed the non creatures swarming him.

Psorion had up until now been the cadres rear guard. As it stood he was perfectly placed to witness the warning signs of a lockdown. The portal through which they entered the embarkation dark had resealed itself and though there still remained a formidable contingent of enemy constructs within the chamber their reinforcements had ceased. Rather than betray such realisation to any unseen observers he threw up the battle sign signal that would inform his brothers of the unfolding situation. Within seconds all but the Apothecary had formed a battle circle as they prepared for what ever the enemy had in mind for them next. Turgis however was far to busy exterminating every last trace of enemy resistance. Spinning as he was through the enemy ranks fragmenting the lifeless ones as he went. The Narthecium on his wrist of such obscene length in comparison to the puny mechanicals atomising their vital systems with each brush of its touch.

It was a curious thing to see the rare battle rage of the Death Guard. Unlike that of the World Eaters it was rarely accompanied by more than a few grunts of bloody satisfaction and not the wooping rage cries of mindless Astartes war dogs. It was Szezilaak that drew the Apothecary from his fugue. "Gas... The enemy clearly knows not our reputation." Said the Brother Sergeant as he affixed his helmet. The others followed suit. All but the Apothecary as per usual. Turgis was stomping around the chamber putting any writhing remnants of the squirming constructs to death.

"Pah wear your helmets. Spare your senses a true test of Barbarun mettle. Generations of our ancestors were born, lived and died in Miasma worse than this." The hulking Astartes took a deep breath of the caustic effluvium. All the better to shame his weakling brothers. He closed his eyes as he savoured the acrid tang of chemicals trying to break down his nervous system. "Ahhhh. I am home." In the proceeding moments of remembrance Hephestule removed his own helmet in emulation of his master. A "zzzrrrzzzz" erupted from the bore of the Narthecium as, having sated his appetite for nostalgia, the Apothecary started off in the direction of another great sealed entry way to the embarkation chamber.

The almost visceral sounds of the Apothecary tearing through the bulkhead door played out for some moments before a rent large enough for an Astartes to pass through was formed. The even more visceral sounds of Turgis as he vented his frustrations upon sighting their next obstacle serenaded the following Space Marines as they squeezed through the aperture. Szezilaak was the first out and was greeted by the Apothecary attempting to tear through the re enforced plasteel walls of the passageway they had emerged onto. His confusion lasted less than a second as his eyes were drawn to the shimmering red energy shield dominating the way head.

By the time the others were through the Brother Sergeant had assessed their situation. Gutthrid was sent back to attempt to secure an exit the way they came while the others attempted to push forwards. Years of combat experience filtering behind the eyes of the venerable Szezilaak told him all he needed to know the way back would be as impassable as the way forwards. The toxic gas that had been being filtered in was beginning to permeate the passageway. The energy shield bottling in the gas filling both the embarkation chamber and the passageway through which they now attempted to cross.

Szezilaak was working just as hard to find some way past this obstacle as his helmets filtration systems were working to prevent the noxious fumes from wreaking havoc on his own internal systems. Thus far all options had come up blank. In all fairness the Apothecary had made admirable progress tunnelling through the very passageway walls. Though it would come to nought. The dour mask worn by Turgis when he relinquished his efforts enough to firmly impose the reality of their situation upon the entire group. Gutthrid returned not long after revealing their plight to be surrounding them on all sides.

"Trapped." Spake Szezilaak. Half to himself and half to the others as he bent his formidable mind to some option that would allow them to forge ahead or at least spend their lives in a bloody spectacle worthy of Mortarion. "Like rats!" Replied the Apothecary with barely concealed anger. Szezilaak watched the brute pacing in forwards and back a few steps from the shield glowering at the war constructs assembling upon the other side. The lack of pure oxygen within the passageway was beginning to tell now. With the majority of the fetid vapours being filtered from his internal systems there was precious little air for his body to use.

"Ha! They have grown tired of battle with Astartes and would see us humbled by the very winds of Barbarus." Psorion exhaulted. The uncharacteristic good humour of the younger marine drew the Apothecaries attention from his vengeful impotence. "Yes and if we cannot pass this barrier than we shall wait for them to open it for us." He said. And with that the five Space Marines prepared themselves for that which was to come.


	15. Fugax Momentum Chapter 15

**Crossing the Aegean - Animal Testing**

The first sign was the shaking. The increased heaving of the shoulders and chest as the creatures ensconced within their armour struggled to breath. There had been perfect stillness up until then, noted the Financial Officer. Although one of them, one of the helmet less ones, had never once ceased his pacing in the seven hours since the Dioxis had started attacking their bloated nervous systems. Another hour after that and those still wearing their full suits of armour began to remove their helmets and greedily suck down any remaining air in the chamber. "Impossible" Noton Dol unintentionally uttered to himself as the sheer magnitude of these elephantine Humanoids resilience continued to astound him. "That chamber is filled with less than twenty percent breathable gasses." He continued trying to find some way to reconcile the monstrous resistance to the deathly vapours these creatures displayed. Suddenly it was no surprise that merely five of these beings were able to destroy some one thousand seven hundred and ninety seven Battle Droids. A veritable mountain of scrap to show for their efforts. Even the loss of the Droideka's seemed acceptable in the face of such wanton destruction. Noton was snapped from his thoughts when one of the creatures sagged to its knees before propping itself up against the passageway facade and continuing its laboured breathing.

That was the second of the interlopers to forgo the use of its helmet. Noton Dol had deduced that their enormous armour clearly housed some kind of filtration system that had been sparing the fully enclosed among them the worst of the Dioxis' effects. Of the two helmetless creatures one had already gone to ground yet the other, the leader of the group Dol suspected, was showing no ill signs aside from the violent, throbbing vein that seemed to be attempting to leap from its forehead. Confident that these creatures would be unable to escape his trap the Financial Officer was happy to wait. He had been in constant communication with the Trade Baron and apart from some careful exaggeration and hyperbole as to his own success had told him everything. Such a warning had convinced Sukha Hapto to remain cautious.

The surviving enemy craft had not even slowed when their brother ship was destroyed. A sure sign that the Trade Federations elusive tactics were a success. "He would be resting at the tip of a Jedi blade if it were not for me." The Financial Officer mused about the potential fates of his master. Communications had already been sent to Dooku alerting the Count as to the Trade Federations capture of the interlopers. The same mysterious figure from the earlier transmission received the communication and soon convinced the Baron to rendezvous with his own ship to transfer the prisoners. This translated as an order for Noton Dol to fully subdue the prisoners before the fifteen hour hyper space transit from the nebula to the rendezvous point was up.

It was many hours before the condition of the trapped brutes changed. All but their leader had begun to lean against the walls of the passageway or had simply sat down. Their breathing had slown to a pace that the Nemoidian didnt feel could sustain their swolen Humanoid bodies. Just watching them choke down great lungfulls of corrosive gas made he himself feel short of breath. The perfectly still B1's standing in mocking defiance of the fleshly beings discomfort. The interlopers had shared words amongst themselves on many occasions as the Lucrehulk sped towards its destination. However the Nemoidian was unable to hear whatever parcels of wisdom were being passed among them due to the hazing noise of the ray shields. But it mattered not. He had them trapped where he wanted them and whether or not they were willing to admit it they were dying. The leader of the group had, more than once, banged his fists against the shields heedless to the layers of armour and flesh that had been scorched away by the energy. What ever the creature had shouted to the Baron had been lost to the sounds of squealing energy discharge and melting flesh.

The others were beginning now to fade into unconsciousness. Heralded first by fitful spasms as their bodies, starved almost entirely of oxygen, began to shut down. It was a beautiful thing to watch. The last sparks of defiance leaving a defeated enemy. Though they clinged with unassaialble tenacity to the edges of their conciousness they were fading now. But still their leader paced. His grey hair matted with the same blackish sweat that was dripping from his face in thick rivulets. As his body fought desperately to eject the toxins breathed in out through his pores. Still he wore the look of defiance, the kind of look that could kill lesser beings, though it had somewhat slackened since the creature had last attempted to smash through the shields.

"Thump" echoed dully through the shielding as one of the creatures lost its battle with the gas and dropped fully unconscious to the ground. Its face slack and its eyes empty. Was it dead? The Financial Officer couldn't be sure. They had survived many times longer than he thought any creature could but then again what was a few moments more. Noton Dol had been keeping a careful eye on how long was left of their transit. He was running out of time but after the massive destruction of his forces he was reluctant to commit any more to combat. No matter how addled the enemy now was. What he did know was that soon his ship would be arriving within the vicinity of the Dathomir system. An obscure planet in the outer rim famous for playing host to those who did not wish for their dealings to be exposed.

There were only hours left before Noton Dol would have to present his captives to Dooku's agent and still they were not all subdued. The Financial Officer turned to the command droid standing a few meters to his rear and gave it its orders. "Prepare to lower the shields." When he returned his sight to the barrier he was greeted by the leering grin of the enemy leader staring dead into his eyes. Whatever this creature was it knew what was coming next.

Unwilling to oblige the twinkle of violence in his enemies eyes so soon Noton Dol ordered the venting of the embarkation deck rather than donning his filtration mask. A few split seconds of maddening turbulence hurled the interlopers around the ship before depositing them in twisted shapes around the passageway as pressure was returned and the shields came crashing down. The enemy leader was the only one to regain his feet. He stomped clumsily towards the defiant Nemoidian. Though he felt the tangible fear experienced by all of his ilk when faced with the prospect of personal battle Noton Dol stood resolute. He knew his Baron would be watching and would use any sign of insubordination or cowardice as an excuse to keep an ambitious rival firmly under foot. "Forwards" spake the Nemoidian as the interloper came within five meters.

The being was sluggish in its movements. Its arms hung by its sides. Brutal weapons clasped tightly in its fists. It stopped. Seemingly unable to go on. Its skin had gone from white to almost transparent in the hours it had spent gulping down tainted air. It took only a few seconds for the Battle Droids to completely surround it. The multitudinous barrels of their weaponry like a phalanx of old. The interloper just stood their heaving with laboured breath, head down. "Surrender yourself to me and I promise you that you will not be harmed." Such an obvious lie seemed wasteful at a time like this but Dol did not wish to risk combat when he was so close to the front lines. Only three ranks of droids separating him from the creature.

"Now that is a surprise. I was going to say the same thing to you. Though you should know... I rarely keep my promises." Replied the Humanoid. And then battle was joined.


	16. Fugax Momentum Chapter 16

**Crossing the Aegean - Stuck Pigs**

When Noton Dol finally returned to the bridge of the Lucrehulk he cut a most unnemoidianly figure. The mixture of fluids falling from his body only distinguishable from each other by the colour. Thick green Nemoidian blood flowed freely alongside the ichorous wetness that had once circulated through his honour guard. Bent almost over double and wheezing with fatigue Dol took a moment to compose himself before presenting himself officially to his commander. "The enemy has been subdued my Baron." Spake he as he walked with practiced composure. "The remittance promised to the Trade Federation for these animals had better be worth my efforts." He continued. The Baron had been careful to maintain the appearance of active command while his most competent underlings took care of the real work but after several hours pretending to command a star ship the Captain of the vessel was glad for a distraction. "It will be. The Count is a very rich man. Do you believe the Federation would have stooped to cooperation with such as he if it were not for the staggering wealth such collusion could bring. After all my disciple, this is not the first time we have started a war." The counts words were full of history but Noton Dol did not have time to indulge the Barons penchant for recanting well known stories.

"There is no truth of great worth contained anywhere but your words my Baron. But if I am correct we are nearing the Dathomir system and our captives require preparation for their transfer. I highly doubt our current measures will be enough to keep them subdued for their journey." Noton Dol had expected some over the top and showy imperative to be dictated unto him by his commander but none came. Only the scrutinising look of a master seeking to maintain his lead over an underling. "Is that your blood?" Said the Baron, attempting to draw the attention of every Nemoidian on the bridge to the dishevelled condition of their second in command. Dol refused to answer straight away. To have done so would have been more of an indictment of his tactical acumen than the signs of battle etched into his body ever could. No he would remain defiant and wear down his lords undeserved pomp and respect with tenacity and action. "The creatures that I have seized..." The Financial Officer was very clear to stress his responsibility for the captures. "Remain unconscious... Mostly. But It is unlikely they will remain so for long. Our present restraint facilities are inadequate but I have already tasked the engineers with forging some such apparatus that will hold them."

Now consumately weary of the actual ministrations of a star ship Captain and General of the Separatist fleet the Trade Baron waved away his underling, wishing to return to the acquisition of funds and property. "Then I shall leave their care unto you. Now leave. There is much that I must attend to." The Baron ended this dialogue with another blatant lie. But lies were simply another of the many currencies traded by Nemoidians, and having learnt his place years ago Noton Dol left the bridge once more. It took some time to cross the hulk and reach the engineering decks. Such a ship was large enough not only to support a battle force large capable of conquering an entire planet but also to support the entire logistical chain for such a battle force. The journey was made all the longer by the fact that several of the most convenient crossways through the craft had been smote to wreckage by the boarding of the enemy. When he finally arrived the technicians had already been working for some time.

The designs he had prepared for the technicians were quite brilliant. Even if he did say so himself. The engineering deck was usually given over to the care and maintenance of the Droid army but a large section of one of the engineering decks had been requisitioned for finding a way to ensure the interlopers remained subjugated. In amongst a clearing laboured twenty of the most capable members of his species as he could find. Many of them forgoing the traditionally ostentatious fashion of the Nemoidians and instead covered with mechanical implants and tools designed to increase their productivity. Surrounding this pocket of furious labour, for Noton Dol had proclaimed that any who did not reach the standard of which he had demanded of them would be sent to live out their lives on their homeworld, were hundreds of ranks of plasteel still B1 Battle Droids in varying states of disrepair. Some of them having clearly been welded together following the interlopers rampage.

"My Lord. These creatures struggle against the agents we have introduced to their systems. Is it safe to keep them onboard?" Rather than answering his underling with words Noton Dol elected for a more dynamic approach. Thumbing a few of the studs hidden within his voluminous robes Noton Dol activated the droids. In unison almost twenty thousand B1's un holstered their weapons and pivoted to face the engineering crews and their captives. "Thank you my lord." Spoke the engineer as he returned to his work. "They are targetting you. Do not fail me." Answered the Financial Officer.

The restrains were taking shape now even as they were built around the unconscious enemy. X shaped enclosures attached to some kind of complex medical equipment that was administering obscene combinations of narcotics through their systems. Every few moments one of the interlopers would squirm. Their restrains creaking as their enormous limbs feebly struggled against their bonds. The head technician, having recovered from the implied threat to his life issued not moments ago meekly moved to Dol's side. "There is something you should see."

Perturbed but intrigued the Financial Officer followed. "This one is more resistant than the others." His lilting Nemoidian accent betraying his concern. The long haired enemy lay not unlike the others. Arms spread out and encased in solid plasteel blocks. But unlike the other this one was attempting to speak. His eyes darting feverishly behind their lids, threatening to open at every opportunity. Noton Dol focused on the banks of information scrolling across the display on the medical unit attached to the restraint cross. "Impossible..." The paradoxically confident Nemoidian suddenly felt the cowardice endemic to his species. "He is adapting to the chemicals almost as fast as we can introduce them." Came the voice of the head technician. Suddenly and without warning the creatures eyes erupted to openness. Shrapnel flew and restraints screamed as the interloper wrenched at them with all of his might.

"The Xenos will be purged! The Reaper comes! Death stalks these lands and we are but his messengers!" Was all that the creature was able to shriek as the medical units recombined the flow of narcotics and pumped them into its veins with greatly increased pressure in response to its outburst. Every vein on its body almost bursting from its skin as the sheer volume of chemicals forced their way through its veins and arteries. Work stopped instantly as each of the Nemoidians sought to distance themselves from potential harm. Noton Dol's finger having scant millimetres from the control stud that would order the droids to open fire. Only after a few moments of painful stillness were the Nemoidians confident that the creature was once more subdued. For now. Unwilling to subject himself to any more danger Noton Dol left his underlings with a few threatening words of encouragement before retiring to the medical facilities himself. By the time his wounds were addressed the ship would be orbiting Dathomir.

The embarkation deck had been cleared as best as could be managed under such time constraints. There within stood over a thousand battle droids and one full contingent of Droidekas. Sukha Hapto was taking no chances. The Sith had propelled the Trade Federation to heights undreamt of and his own work with their ranks had raised him to Viceroy Nute Gunrays inner circle. The prospect of appearing weak in front of this mysterious order could not be countenanced. Nestled among the geometrically perfect parade of troops stood upright the five restraint crosses. The unconscious invaders bolted unceremoniously to their frames. They had been waiting for almost an hour now. The Baron had ordered Noton to scan for ships no less than seven times as they waited but each time had been for nothing. Until now.

Having appeared as though from nowhere the Sith ships landing had been efficient and swift. The crafts boarding ramp protruded with almost deliberate slowness. Drawing out the moment painfully. When at last the portal of the ship opened itself it was filled with a dark figure. Whatever manner of creature stood before them had clothed itself with such darkness that all could be discerned was that it wore the shape of a man. Two arms, two legs and a head. Any further features were obscured to the Nemoidian watchers. The Trade Baron's mind was elsewhere. Filled with visions of power and grandeur and the thoughts of wealth soon to be provided. Noton Dol's mind however was abuzz. He had attempted to detect the face of their Sith contact when he had contacted them via transmission but the quality had been as such to prevent identification.

The Nemoidian was unnerved to learn that even now looking directly at the creatures face he was unable to discern any more about the creature than before. The cowl was pulled forward so as to obscure the majority of the Sith's face but he should have been able to see it. Some force was preventing his mind from translating the images provided to it by his eyes. Infuriated but impotent the second in command distracted himself with the unsettlingly intricate designs weaved into the newcomers cloak in a thread the colour of dried blood. Someone should warn this envoy that its manner of dress was offensive to the Nemoidian species. Lest some enterprising Nemoidian place a bounty hunter on his trail. "Yes" he thought. He would have to make contact with Cad Bane. His genetic cousin the Duros bounty hunter had risen to prominence in recent years. The credits of the Trade Federation had been a corner stone of the Bounty Hunters business since the outbreak of the Clone Wars. Though it would do no good now to have a Sith Lord "disappear" but when he had raised to the higher echelons of the Trade Federation not even the arrogant Sith would be beyond his reach. He would check the security recordings later and discover the identity of what ever apparition now stood before him.

Darkness closed in around them. Cloying fingers of perplexity wormed through their senses as the creature moved. The effect only became more pronounced as the cloaked figure came to a halt before the Trade Baron. Noton Dol had been privy to the Trade Federations dealings with the Sith for years and was no stranger to their extra natural abilities. He had felt their fingers in his mind before but nothing as pronounced as this. Whoever stood before him now was well and truly in his, and the Barons minds. Even if the Baron seemed not to notice. "Welcome Lord... Ahem. By which cognomen do you wish to be referred?" Seized with avarice and desire not entirely his own the Baron practically tripped over himself in his attempts to please this newcomer. Oblivious to the palpable dread it exuded.

"17 minutes..." The being replied. "E... Excuse me my lord?" Stuttered the aging Baron. "That is how long you have to conclude this meeting without risking the ire of my master. Need I remind you that time is credits. And the sinews of war are infinite money. Waste my time and you waste your own lives. Now load these beasts onto my ship. The Sith paused. Then chillingly inclined his head towards Noton Dol. "You will find any such record of this meeting has already been purged from your vessels security systems." With that the creature returned to its ship. Not a single word would be uttered on the deck until the Sith had left. Ranks of droids carried each of the immense Narco-harnesses onto its ship and a single unmarked IG-100 droid delivered the codes that would validate an enormous credit transfer into both the Trade Federation and the Barons accounts.

Moments later and the Sith craft had departed. Leaving no trace of its presence aboard the Lucrehulk, and thanks to forceful clawing of the Nemoidians minds, precious little in their heads either. Shaken by their experience both the Baron and his Financial Officer returned to the bridge in silence. Glad to be free of his captives and even more so with his new economic status Sukha Hapto busied himself with aiming pompous directives and commandments at the menials within sight. While his superior attempted to forget the harrowing meeting with the Sith Noton Dol searched desperatly through the hulks security systems in an attempt to pin down any evidence of the creatures identity. Apparently the surveilance systems aboard his ship had faded in efficiency the second the portal on the Sith craft began to open. An unnatural disruption of the signal that reduced any such recording to nothing much more than static.

"Bantha Excrement!" He shouted in his mind. There was nothing. Even in the brief moment the being pointed its face towards one of the recording devices. The picture quality was uniformly abysmal but still much could be discerned. Much that is but the cloaked figures details. The closer the devices focus came to the Sith the stronger the interference. A yawning hole of technological disruption sitting where the creatures face should have been. Feeling his anger and disappointment mixing toxically in his gut Dol began to recite the 27 Electrum Principles of successful business practice to steady his nerves. The Electrum Principles as they were more commonly known were the closest thing the Nemoidian peoples had to a constitution or holy text, and was required reading among the business education circles of every known species that wished to impress itself upon the commerce sector of the galaxy. To such a single minded species as his own the principles were practically a guide to life. Those given to flights of fancy could even go as far as describing it as their mantra, as it was often compulsively uttered in times of stress. Noton Dol continued his chanting as he searched for any distinguishing feature of the being who had violated the sanctity of his mind and humbled him with casual authority. Reciting with deliberate clarity when reaching a principle of poignant resonancy with his current situation. "Don't be slow in your debt collection. Without collections, liquidity will be effected."


	17. Fugax Momentum Chapter 17

**Crossing the Aegean - The other side**

Like a breaching whale on some distant ocean of old Terra the Entropic left the uncaring embrace of the Aegean Nebula. All the colours of mundane space rushing in to greet it after the kaleidoscope of nebulaic gasses had finally retreated. Muted cheers spread through the Human members of the crew even under the dour glares of their Astartes masters. Captain Grendel sat, as he had done since entering the Nebula, in his command throne over looking the bridge of the Entropic. Though he had not moved a muscle since departing the Aegean, Bolkar could tell his mind was more active now than it had been since their being deposited in these strange reaches of space.

Evidently much had weighed upon the Captains mind. Ideas, strategies and safeguards all had been building up during the fleets Nebula enforced impotence and now he struggled to decide which should be enacted first. Or so Bolkar had assumed. The Captain gained his feet in moments and began unleashing a blistering array of orders upon his men. His words coming in so thick and so fast that had his tongue been a bolter he could have brought a planet to compliance. "I want confirmation that the others have breached the nimbus with us, all targeting systems recalibrated and all batteries prepared for fire."

Seeking to enact his masters will rather than question it Bolkar immediately went over to one of the control terminals and began the ministrations that would recalibrate the targeting systems. However having had ample time while crossing the Nebula most of the ships systems required little adjustment. The ships secondary systems were beginning to come back online now. Terminals lit up as information from the astral sea around them filtered onto their screens. Above the impressive disc that served as the meeting table for Grendel's council the spherical hololith display began to take shape. Within its confines could be seen a rough approximation of the space around the Entropic with the eminent ship at its centre. With each passing second the image within grew sharper and more detailed. Soon other ships were blinking into existence alongside their leader. The Vecnost and Hrabrost first and soon after the rest of them. The rest save for one.

Pangs of forboding strummed at his first and second hearts. "The Surkhast..." Bolkar muttered under his breath. Stomping over from one terminal to another dwarfing the frail tendrilled creature hooked up to the console Bolkar immediately assumed control. According to the data unfurling before him all secondary and teriary systems aboard the Entropic were now back online. There was no reason for the Surkhast to be illuding their scans. If the Surkhast was not appearing before them now it was because it was simply not there. Bolkar strained to find some trace of the ship. Some errant signal piercing the thinning edges of the Nebula announcing their imminent arrival. But there was nothing. Only the lonely silence that passes through a ship before its brother is declared lost in the Warp.

Bolkar's uncharacteristic moment of worry was interrupted by the Captain. "Where is the Surkhast?" His tone was unreadable. Though all aboard knew that their Captains closest confidant and oldest battle brother was aboard the ship now missing there was no note of worry in his voice. Only a dispassionate determination to enact his Captaincy with a competence that would do the Primarch proud. "The Surkhast appears not to have emerged from the Nebula with us Captain." Offered Bolkar. "I have performed systems diagnostics and by all acounts our sensorium seems to be operating at peak efficiency." His answer seemed not to please Grendel.

Anticipating his Captains next words he prepared to disseminate an order for the remaining ships in the fleet to fan out and enclose as much of the Nebula as possible. Standard rescue procedure in such a situation was to form a net and hope to catch any stragglers within. "The Hrabrost is preparing to re enter the Nebula as soon as the net formation is reached." Bolkar bleated even as he engaged the broadcast protocols and attempted once more to communicate with their lost ship. "No..." Said Grendel shocking the bridge. Even with the majority of his war council scattered or busy there were enough senior Astartes abridge who knew the Captain personally for the weight of his words to cut like a knife. Not usually given to murmurs of any kind the gravity of the situation had clearly impressed the Astartes.

"Not rescuing the Apothecary?"

"Leaving Turgis to die?"

"Brother Sergeant Szezilaak would not abandon US..."

And many such other guarded protests could be heard swirling around the command centre of the Entropic. Even one with such a perfect trust in his Captain such as Bolkar could not help but be shocked. "We lack the technical capabilities of locating a ship lost to the tides of the Nebula. Our objectives remain unchanged. We progress towards the planet designated Krassus and begin our preparations." The finality of the Captains words brooked no dissent. Though in truth there were none among their number who could have suggested a course of action more realistic in its ambitions. Calls for rescue were par for the course in the moments following an Imperium ship being declared warp lost. Only they were not in the Warp thought Bolkar as a final remedy to their misfortunes raced to the fore of his mind.

"Captain. We have no such ability to penetrate the Nebula but surely the Astropaths? If calling out to our home is too much for them perhaps a single ship not a lightyear distant would be within their capabilities?" Announced the gifted Astartes as the uncontrollable sense of hope that accompanied a last ditch plan warmed his cool body. Even the moments of silence as his unknowable Captain pondered his words could not stop the spread of desire to rescue his brothers inching through his person.

"The Astropaths are lost to us..."

Pain returned to the Astartes. The last glimmer of defiance in the face of fate winked out under the gaze of his master. "All ships ahead." He heard over his shoulder as he helped prepare the Entropic for transit.

It had been some minutes since Grendel had returned to his throne. The silence of the bridge now more oppressive than ever in its past. Not one but two heroes of the legion had been lost today and though it wounded all his brothers there were none who bore the wounds so deeply as himself. A flicker of relief had ignited within his darkest depths when Bolkar had endeavoured to persuade him to try the Astropaths. He had almost done it too. But Grendel was privy to what Bolkar was not. The choir was all but gone. Those that had not turned upon themselves could not be reached by words or actions. Blood seeped from open wounds across their flesh from where their maddened brothers had torn at them with a fury and abandon rarely seen in the unaugmented human strain. Once the finger nails had been pulled from the freshly dug furrows in the survivors skin Grendel had ordered some of his men to try and communicate with them. But there was nothing to be done. For whatever reason the Astropaths had lost their ability to make sense of the material world.

From their feverish ramblings it had become clear that without their connection to the Warp their ability to perceive the mundane had been effected. The question as to whether this was a psychosomatic symptom or not was the deciding factor in whether they would be allowed to keep their lives. Despite his unyielding pragmatism in the theatre of war Grendel was loath to waste any more of those under his commmand without good reason. The Human part of him even held some sympathy for the wayward creatures who sat in restraints calling out for people they did not know with voices they could not hear. The fear and loneliness that could be heard in their voices bringing an impression of loss so severe even the Captain could not remain unmoved.

Rather than inflict the rest of his men with the terrible knowledge that their Astropathic choir was all but gone. Or drain their morale with the Astropaths child like calls for aid. The Captain had sought to avoid broadcasting their fate to his crew. Bolkars idea had, for the briefest of moments, rekindled Grendels faith in their efficacy. But his better judgement soon muscled its way to the fore. A hastily built medical enclosure had been crafted in the heart of the choirs lair. Tasking his most automatonical Astartes to guard the entrance. Grendel hoped that their condition should improve enough that if he could ever lead his men back to familiar climes there would be someone alive to send message to the Imperium.

The remnants of the 49th Expedition limped across the open space between itself and the newly christened Krassus. The winking lights of stars distant a constant reminder that the Imperium forces had lost the greater part of their mobility with their ability to sense the Warp. Without such shortcuts through real space the fleet would be severely hampered and given the perplexing mobility of the Republic forces that were very likely still surveiling their movements could be deadly. That only made it more important for them to reach Krassus. More than anything else Grendel wished to turn around his fleet and save his brother from a lingering death. But Grendels first allegiance was to the Great Crusade. A single ship lost would be nothing next to the deaths of all who remained under his command. And even the loss of all those under his command would be nothing compared to the knowledge that he had not only failed his entire species but also his Emperor.

The scanning of Krassus had been completed hours ago yielding positive results. Their preliminary scans had revealed virtually no life upon the dusty planet and closer inspection said the same. A few errant hotspots of biology here and there but almost exclusively hidden away in the depths of the planet. Nothing that should be a threat to the most unrelenting of all the Legionnes Astartes. Thankfully the planets atmosphere was, if not accommodating to unprotected Human survival, certaintly accommodating to the landing of vast star ships. A marginally higher oxygen content in the air caused the eminations of the Astartes vessels to bloom spectacularly both fore and aft as they sought to reduce speed upon entry. Scars that would mar the features of Krassus for thousands of years were blasted into rock older than any of the species that made it their home as the first Astartes planetfall in this galaxy occurred.


	18. Fugax Momentum Chapter 18

**Crossing the Aegean** **\- Marian Reforms**

When the Astartes emerged from their ships they did so with purpose. During their descent Captain Grendel had relayed his commands to every available being under his control. Rictate and his personal cohort had assumed partial command the moment the ships had been settled. Work gangs of thick muscled Astartes laboured as equals alongside the respirator equipped Humans as they began to erect scaffolds in preparation of shearing away great sections of the ships. Within a few hours work could commence and autarky could be achieved. Soldiers and technicians in their hundreds emerged from the ship carting great heaps of repurposed building materials for the work ahead when the communications device embedded within his armour alerted Bolkar that the Captain had need of him.

Bolkar had been among the first to step foot outside of the ship and had been working alongside Rictate to direct the menials flooding from the ship to where their skills would be most useful. Threading his way through the morass towards his Captain he looked down with pride to see the furtive efficiency of the Astartes married with the dedication of the Humans of the fleet. The protectors alongside the protected. It was times like this that Bolkar could see all the hope of the Emperors vision. He could feel it beating in his chest and wondered how any of his ilk could look upon their lesser charges with the contempt they often showed them.

The Captain was waiting in the yawning mouth of the Entropic. Atop the ramp he stood in stillness. His eyes beckoning Bolkar to him. As soon as the technologically inclined Astartes reached his master Grendel turned and walked away. Back into the ship. Bolkar froze in his confusion unsure of whether or not he was being dismissed. "You are coming aren't you?" Called the Captain as he was swallowed up by the Entropic.

Bolkar briskly started off after the Captain. The labourers parting around the giant as he followed Grendel deeper in. This close to the disembarkation ramps work was in full swing. Hive like in its aspect without a single point of stillness to be seen. A vortex of buzzing flies centred around the Death Guard. Grendel hadn't slowed his pace to allow Bolkar to gain his side and even now Bolkar was struggling to catch up. Every time the Captain turned a corner there seemed to be a gaggle of mortals caught up in their own struggle to please the Captain. Refusing to give into the boorish sentiments towards their brothers in species, if not in aspect, Bolkar let the Humans pass only to find the Captain more and more distant at each turn.

Now the ship was beginning to empty. Where before the sounds of grunting and straining were a constant now there was only the buzzing hum of the lumen strips and the gun metal grey of the inner hull. "Where is he leading me?" Bolkar wondered. Given the prodigious task ahead of them Bolkar wondered why he hadnt been required to oversee some more important task. He searched for any sign of significance but could see none. These were the same halls he had walked for what passed for a lifetime on some of the more destitute planets whos compliance he had had a part in. The same unadorned nerves threading the great beast that was the Entropic.

It was only some meters distant, that during the routine compliance of a backwater world, the fickle pirates of the star born elves penetrated their defences. The notches and gouges adding texture to the walls all about him the only form of decoration to be seen around. It was not unusual to find the more artistically inclined of the Legion pacing these halls inspecting the damage and reliving the battles, savouring once more the honour of days past. But there was nothing on this deck that could have been considered use... "the Choir." He thought just as he emerged into a larger chamber at the far end of which rested a grand door. And before said portal his Captain stood in perfect stillness waiting for his brother.

"Do you think I was wrong to call off the search?" Announced the Captain. Bolkar was distracted momentarily while he studied the chamber around him. This area of the Entropic was foreign to him. Ofcourse at some point or another he had been aboard every inch of the illustrious vessel but this part of the ship had given over more than just space to the Astropathic Choir. The stark grey of the Death Guard had slowly given way to the burnished yet not ostentatious gold of the Astropaths. Symbols in all the ancient tongues of Humanity were etched alongside bass relief into virtually every inch. Even the ceiling was similarly decorated. This time consumed by frescos of consummate beauty that flowed in-between the pillars of the chamber as naturally as water . How had he never noticed before? He could not answer himself but thanked the Emperor he had retained the ability to appreciate more than just the deaths of his enemies like many of his brothers. Such a distinction in thinking between himself and those around him had become a dilemma of thought for the young Astartes of late. How could they ever be more than soldiers when there was nothing outside of death and duty that could capture their hearts?

"I will take your silence for a yes." Uttered Grendel.

"No my Lord. No such thought ever entered my mind. You are my Captain. It is not my place to question the machinations of leadership." Answered the young Astartes. "But if I may be so bold as to say... I had wondered why you refused to let me petition the Choir." Before Bolkar had finished speaking Grendel had begun to move. Hands behind his back the Captain walked upto the great door before them. Upon one half was the Emperor, beloved by all, hand outstretched and all the hope in the universe was contained within his perfect features. Even the point of his golden finger seemed to promise mankind the stars and more. And upon the other a field as far as the eye could see of the sick. Not those sick with illness mind you. But those with afflictions beyond the understanding of mortal ken. Those whose mere existence had been forbidden for thousands of years. Men and women who had been turned on and cast out by their own families for faults not their own. And here was the greatest being who ever had lived or ever would live stretching out his golden light unto them all. As equals. As equal as any man or women who counted His realm as their own.

There was one figure among the kneeling who had raised up and reached out to the Emperor. Here were all those whose mere existence had been considered a danger and an abomination prostrated before a being they could not hope to understand. And there was one among them who wished to know the Emperor. To be more than the seeping sickness that had plagued generations past. And in one perfect moment the Emperor gave him that knowledge. Edged in riotous gold the light of the Emperor flowed into the being as though their two outstretched fingers were connected by the same threads that tied together the entire universe. And the man knew the mind of the Emperor for the briefest of moments. This was the soul binding Bolkar realised. The process by which the Emperor steeled the minds of those with a shadow of his gift and made them strong enough to not only live in his new world but to be agents of it. This was among the most beautiful sights Bolkar had ever seen. Without thinking he placed his hand upon the door and his eyes rested upon the figure of the Emperor.

To see, even rendered in lifeless gold, the endless compassion of the Emperor was moving even to a creature whom the Emperor worked tirelessly to remove such senses from. Bolkar had often wondered whether he would still be willing to be a soldier for the Emperor if he had not been so blessed by Him. Was his will to fight Astartes or Human. But when looking at such compassion and beauty, of which no such things existed at the cradle of his birth, Bolkar knew. That he would have fought and died a thousand times over for the Emperors vision Astartes or not.

When Grendel finally spoke it was not with the biting edge of a commander but the soothing tones of a father who has lost the will to inflict harshness upon his child. "It was a difficult decision. But one day you will understand the dilemma of command. My brothers can afford the sentiments of comradeship but as Captain I cannot. For the sake of us all and for the sake of the vision we see before us I must accept the situation for its true face. I will make this burden my own and in my mind I must consider the Surkhast lost to us. Even if my heart screams it is not so." Hearing the turmoil in his Captains words Bolkar kept silent.

"I have tasked the greater part of our strength with furthering the cause of the Great Crusade. But you, Bolkar. You whose mind is so unlike the others have another task. Do not think it is a task to which you have been assigned for your mental faculties either. It is a task that falls to you because you feel as I do. That there is more to the bonds of our legion than accolades won in battle." Grendel paused for a moment. "What do you hear?"

Confused Bolkar simply stood still and listened. At first he could hear nothing but with strain he managed to pick something out. Voices. It was the Astropathic Choir for certain but there was something strange. They called out as though babies in the dark. Bolkar was not sure what Grendel was expecting from him but the continued silence of his commander prompted him to venture an answer. "I hear isolation and... pain. I hear the songs of our youth. The songs of Barbarus." His answer seemed to please the Captain. "Correct as usual Bolkar. What you hear is the Astropaths. Lost without the warp. But truly they are no different to us right now. Lost. Without an anchor to the worlds they know. My concern has to lay with this remedy. I have to be the mind of the legion. But you will now follow its heart. Though your presence will be sorely missed during the reconstruction your task will be just as important."

Feeling his chest swell with pride Bolkar listened intently. The words of his Captain reminding him he was not alone among his Legion in his sentiments. "I am tasking you with the creation of a beacon. Use any means at your disposal. I want a signal broadcast at the Nebula day and night. If the Surkhast is to emerge anywhere this side of the Nimbus I want them to hear us calling for them." The Captain locked eyes with his subordinate and in their steely depths Bolkar saw all the emotion Grendel had locked away while upon the bridge. "Yes my lord. I will begin imedietely." Answered Bolkar awed by the most naked emotion he had ever seen aboard the Entropic. Grendel spoke once more with his hand clasped over Bolkars shoulder. "Find my brother."


	19. Fugax Momentum Chapter 19

**Crossing the Aegean - Emptiness Comes**

The work had been progressing for the better part of a standard Terran day now. Those formerly grey robed workers of the Imperium had taken upon a distinct figure after hours of toiling upon the sands of the planet known to them as Krassus. Caked with orange dust and shedding rivulets of sweat on a planet that was dangerously close to the sun. It was hardly any surprise that they had come across no life forms in their time planet side. In amongst the damp ochre drones worked the Astartes. Unused to such menial work they grumbled along parting the waves of humanity before them as though boulders in a great river. Even with such utilitarian aspirations for this mission the Captain had been careful in his selections. The land they stood upon now was easily defensible. Even on a planet with no dangerous species the Death Guard way spoke of battle soon to come. Despite the near uniform lack of life upon Krassus, botanical or otherwise, Captain Grendel had ordered the digging of enormous trenches ringing the circle of Imperium ships.

The scaffolds had started to shoot up now that the entire force of the 49th had had some time to adjust to their new roles. But still the greater part of the Astartes were consumed with the task of making their new head quarters defensible. Behind the ships were a series of low plateaus that shielded them on almost three sides. Impregnable defences they were not. But any enemy that sought to come that route would have to spend a great many more lives in such an action than could reasonably be accepted by a competant general.

The ditches ran the length of the canyonway that lead to the Imperium position. Deep enough that only the upper body of a Space Marine could be seen above, these defences were not meant to be manned by mortals. Stark gouges in ground made by work gangs of Barbarus. Simply smashed into the floor with the great strength of the Astartes using whatever tools would survive. Grendel waited again in the mouth of the Entropic. Looking out across his men. The defences were progressing excellently. The time it would take to re arm the ships necessitaed defence. Grendel knew not whether the Republic was still in pursuit but their ships could arrive at any moment and he wanted to be ready. If this was to be the site of their last stand then he would have it be a battle to end all battles. He had received no word of Bolkars progress though during a brief encounter with Rictate he had learned Bolkar had torn apart half the ship in his search for the componants he felt were necessary to reach out to Turgis and Szezilaak. The Mechanicum adepts bond with the young Astartes being the only reason he hadnt sought punishment for his damaging of systems Rictate himself would have to repair.

Grendel ached for the work to be completed. He had performed munitions checks over and over in an attempt to circumnavigate the gravity of the truth. They did not have enough bullets and bread to survive. The 49th was not dead in the water yet. They could fight. And they could win. But should they be baited into protracted fighting they would soon find the limits of their Crusade. The usual murmurs of discontent had of course cropped up here and there. Many of the Astartes resented being forced into what they saw as ignoble and menial work. The more even tempered among them however had seen the sense in the Captains orders and took to the work as readily as any of his orders. After all hard work had been good enough for their ancestors upon Barbarus.

The Captain had toured the workforce several times. He found his presence placated the most boistrous of the Death Guard. It was during one of these sojourns that his attention was called. It was one from among the Human workforce. One of the nameless men and women of the Entropic. Grendel made a point of forging a bond with the Humans under his control but the regular expenditure of Human lives in relation to the long life span of an Astartes made it somewhat taxing to keep up. Despite the heaving morass of activity around them Grendel took the opportunity to draw tight the fetters of camaraderie. After all with no clear route back to the Imperium these men and women could well be the beginnings of the first Human colony in this forsaken galaxy to remain untainted by Xenos corruption.

Silhouetted against the roaring sun Grendel raised a hand. An island of calm in an otherwise furious abyss of machinations and cooperation. The Human was shocked. To have received a direct order from one of the Astartes was honour enough. To be deemed worthy of the attentions of the Captain was something else entirely. Swathed in what used to be grey the wiry mortal froze in dust caked robed. Eyes wide and mouth slightly agape he stood as perfectly still as his coursing anatomy would allow. "What is your name?" Spoke the Captain perfectly in time with the chemicals through the Humans bodies. The chemicals that sent shockwaves of awe stuttering through his body as he struggled to find the answer to a question he had answered a thousand times before.

"Boleslav. My Lord." Escaped the Humans lips as a shaking hand rubbed dust from his shortly cropped hair. The majority of the Human workforce stationed outside the ships were equipped with respirator equipment. While the atmosphere was for the most part breathable the proportions of the gasses themselves were different to those normally breathed by Humanity. Boleslav was clearly suffering from the combined effects of the undiminished attention of a great Astartes hero and the over abundance of oxygen in the air.

"What is it that makes you seek me out little one." Disdaining the attitude with which the majority of his brothers treated the mortals with Grendel was always sure to show cordiality. In fact it was this very sense of connection that so few of them shared that lead to Grendel taking a Housecarl. "Sire, the Astartes known as Bolkar has tasked me with finding you and illuminating you with the progress of his task."

"Excellent" Thought the Captain. The pressures of command had forbade him from dwelling on the possible deaths of two of his most trusted soldiers. Having been concerned only with the great works around him it was a relief to indulge his more Human side. With that Grendel placed a hand upon the menials shoulder and thanked him. The emotion in the Captains eyes could be read plainly by Boleslav. Two opposing fronts of shock and duty froze the Human in place until long after the Captain had departed. It was a moment he would not soon forget.

According to the chronometers aboard ship Bolkar had been working for nearly two Terran days. The work had been near constant apart from the need for rest from the Human crew. Bolkar, like many of his brothers, had worked through the night pausing for minutes rather than hours. The sensorium had been ransacked. It would still function but much of its auxiliary function had been stripped an re purposed and now sat in new form in an empty chamber deep within the Entropic. Wires and wreckage littered the floor. The lumen strips burned low and much of the light in the space was provide by the blinking flashes of Bolkars creation. Rictate would disapprove of course. The creation of any technological device that deviated from the predesigned creations of the Mechanicum were forbidden. That was why Grendel had approached him in private he supposed.

In truth the device that was taking shape before him was not a new creation but an amalgam of pre existing Imperium technology. It was a simple vox broadcasting unit but had been amped up considerably using mechanisms from all over the sensorium. It would be a powerful unit indeed. The sound of footsteps approaching did not cause Bolkar to slow in his ministrations. Over the past few days Bolkar had felt it necessary to conceal his work at the sound of footsteps lest the privacy of his task make its way back to the Mechanicum. But the heavy confident footsteps of the Captain could be recognised anywhere.

"My work is all but done. The signal will be heard for many leagues distant." He offered to the darkness. It was a few moments before the Captain replied. "Thank the Emperor that we have warriors of such acumen within our ranks. Broadcast the signal immediately and join the others outside. The signal will be broadcast until our ships are ready to move. Then... I want this beacon destroyed. Now more than ever we cannot afford to insult the Mechanicum."

Bolkar felt a pang of disappointment upon learning his creation was destined for destruction but the pride at its completion still took to the fore. Down on one knee with his hands inside the beacons interior as he connected the last few points that would bring the machine online Bolkar nodded in the affirmative. "Your word is law my Captain."

The boradcasting of the signal heralded some unforeseen results. Though it had gone unnoticed by virtually the entire Imperium force, the planet seemed to have heard their cries for help. After an hour of its signal speeding in all directions great echoing vibrations could be felt deep in the sphere. Weak at first but growing in insentsity until it was not just the Astartes who could perceive it. Grendel was displeased. Not least because there had been no hint of an answer from his lost ship. It would soon be time to declare them permanently lost. The question of the planets unease had vexed him also. Vexed him deeply enough to convene his severely depleted war council. At present there were only three among their number deemed worthy of consultation. Bolkar, Rictate and the current favourite for replacing Szezilaak, Tuberic. Tuberic was among the older Astartes that now staffed the 49th expedition and as such retained a stronger Barbarun streak than the majority among them. His hair was longer than the Death Guard average but was worn in the manner of the now gone holy men of Barbarus. A patch of baldness shorn into the top of the head symbolising a mans unworthiness in the eyes of his Gods. Obviously the pagan superstitions surrounding his stylistic choices had long been abandoned but many of the blood of Barbarus kept such links to their home world alive as Astartes.

"Perhaps this planet is not as stable as preliminary scans suggested." Offered Tuberic as one hand caressed his chin. His statement was met by silence. Aside from the whirring of the Mechanicum adepts inner workings. "We are unable to perform more exhaustive scans while the retrofit is underway." Said Bolkar. The sense of dissatisfaction was palpable upon the Entropic's bridge. As though he had simply been amassing data in preparation Rictate began to speak. "It is possible, though without access to the Sensorium I only have a 49% probability that the decaying orbit of Krassus has brought it too close to its primary star. The mutable conditions could be heating the oceans that once covered this planet. It is not beyond reasoning to believe that vast bodies of water that in millennia past have receeded deep into the planets mantle and are now becoming vaporised. The internal pressure could be causing the instability of which we are now detecting."

Grendel nodded. Though he could find no fault with the logic of the cyborg he found it difficult to follow the adept at times. The monotonous consistency of his highly detailed sentence structure could be... overwhelming at times. "Tell me Adept. Do you expect the planet to survive long enough for our works to be completed?" The Adept had no time to reply for the war council was interrupted. A Human, his blood drained paleness a message of fear that even the Mechanicum agent could not miss. Grendel recognised him as Boleslav. Since his frank moment with the Captain the young Human was never too far from his side. "Great Grendel. Death has arrived for us all and it defies description. Only the Astartes can spare us now." Tense looks were shared around the bridge before Captain Grendel wordlessly gained his feet and walked towards the portal that would lead him to the planets surface. The others followed without hesitation.


	20. Fugax Momentum Chapter 20

**Crossing the Aegean - Mindless Carnage**

The vision of pandemonium that greeted Captain Grendel defied description. The death of an empire made form. In their credit the Death Guard both mortal and beyond had reacted admirably. With wordless efficiency the Human contingent had sought safety and cover and the Astartes had formed pockets of defence that would delay the coming storm. Grendel stood, as he had many times of late, in the entrance way of the Entropic. Atop the great ramp he looked out at the chaos spreading across Krassus. The cool darkness of the Entropic looming behind him contrasting with dry heat of the planet. In the sky, on its way down yet still painfully bright, sat Krassus's primary. Beaming down on them with an intensity that those who had set foot in his presence compared it to the light of the Emperor.

He had been shocked at first. To see the great gaping wounds ripping through the planets crust had been one thing. But to see the legions of lifeless automatons issue forth had been another. But he supposed he should have been ready for this. Mankind and Xenos living side by side should have been all he needed to understand this entire galaxy as tainted and heathen. And here was the nail in this galaxies coffin. Tens of thousands of insectoid creations were now emerging from the rapidly emerging egresses as far as the eye could see. Grendel realised his mistake the instant he set eyes upon them and cursed himself for his folly. He was an adept commander. Lauded amongst his own legion and others far and wide but he had made a great error. He had been drawing upon every vestige of experience held within his mind but he had been leading as though he was still fighting in his home galaxy.

But out here everything was different. The stars were wrong. The species were wrong. Even the Humans of this galaxy were irredeemably wrong. And now his men would pay the price. He had taken for granted that Humanity had been turned upon by their mechanical armies in the days before the emergence of the Emperor. Thankfully in his native lands this cultural memory was still widespread. Even amongst apostate cultures the use of fully autonomous weaponry was rare. Even rarer in great numbers and completely unseen compared to the astonishing war host assembling before him.

The very fact that he had time for such reflections was a testament to the training of his warriors. Mortarion had always demanded nothing less from his soldiers. Almost unique among the legions, and certainly so for one with such high rates of attrition, the Primarch insisted upon each of his legionaries receiving training in all aspects of war. Thusly it was that when facing a crisis of leadership or when reacting to the unfolding of time sensitive circumstances the Astartes of the Death Guard were able to act autonomously. Despite his lack of forsight when considering that a planet devoid of life was not necessarily devoid of danger Grendel had ensured that the defences of the landing site were completed first.

The rough trenches that sealed the open edge of the canyon was bristling with Astartes. Bolters at the ready they waited for their Captain to order the attack. But it was an order that would not come. There had been many among his force that had clamoured to charge the enemy when the first robotic battalions emerged from the earth. It would have been a slaughter. Ten thousand of these spindly creations could not hope to stall the cold wrath of the Death Guard. But like the insectoids upon which they were clearly modelled where there was ten thousand. There was ten thousand more. The odds were shifting ever out of their favour and Grendel saw that their salvation would be found only in a strong defence.

Though their forte was the grinding of enemies to dust, there were few legions more suited to a lengthy defence than the Death Guard. They survive more grevious wounds than any others. They could thrive upon nothing longer than any legion. And it would take the kind of strength that could move planets to shift the sons of Mortarion from lands they had claimed for their own. Though the constructs had never slowed in their procession from the portals dotting the horizon the assembly of the enemy battle force was nearly complete.

Having no need to disseminate orders to his men in such a black and white confrontation Grendel instead sought to take the measure of his opponent. Clearly they were entirely mechanical. But their impossibly unified motions gave a second implication. These constructs were not exclusively individual minds. Amongst the assembled automatons Grendel could see some providing orders but the majority were clearly acting upon some distant signal... "The signal!" he gasped. It had dawned upon him that the beacon crafted so lovingly by Bolkar must have been received by whatever force commanded the mechanicals arrayed before him. It was a second mistake that Grendel would not forgive himself for a great many years. The desire to sow destruction and reap death in the enemy was growing uncontrollable in his bones now. Threataning to make him charge to the front line and make himself the chief concern of the enemy. But he restrained his warrior urges and remembered the lessons of the Primarch. "There is more to battle than death."

Returning his gaze once more to the enemy he spied many points of interest. Dotted among the uniform formations were slight irregularities. They seemed to possess no tanks or heavy vehicles but there were large groups of seemingly reinforced constructs. Larger and greyer. He would stay mindful of them but what worried him where the closest things that passed for fast attack formations. Large wheel shaped constructions. Up to twenty at a time of these sizable if compact creations were spread at varying intervals through the enemy force.

Movement spread uniformly across the rust coloured badlands that extended fom the foot of the canyon to the horizon. Implacable steps heralded the beginning of a great battle. The almost silent steps of his Housecarl belied the strain he was experiencing as he lifted Miasmon to Grendels hand. A moment later and thrumming energy field that was soon to claim a great tally of the enemy greeted the red sunset of Krassus.

The enemy advanced upon them slowly and meticulously. Nary a step out of place. A great surging wall of tan constructs carrying the wrath of an alien universe towards them. "At least you have been spared the insult of stooping to battle the abominable intelligences of this world." the Captain offered to Turgis's memory. He stood now on a slight outcrop that afforded him an excellent view of both the enemy forces and his own. Surrounded by the remains of his war council he was positioned to not only direct the defence of the canyon but to observe the enemy movements. So far there had not been a single exchange of weapons fire. Only the buzzing of a hundred thousand feet and the tangible silence of the assembled Death Guard.

Years of battle had taught the Captain that the Boltguns effective range tended to be subordinate to that of the directed energy weapons that seemed to be standard for this galaxy. The first loosing of fire came from the enemy ranks. A thousand streaks of red light lancing forth from their battle line with a reckless abandon that seemed at odds with the precise mechanical nature of their existence. Many of the blasts struck lifeless rock or else skittered over the heads of the of the bowing Astartes. Still from the veritable wall of super heated gas and light many shots struck home. It was a numbers game and the enemy had the numbers to gamble. The effects of the first volley were almost entirely negligible. A few vulnerable spots here and there were penetrated but the weapons of these constructs were even more puny and cheaply constructed than those of the Republic.

The first move in this war had been made and the Death Guard had suffered no casualties. If only that were to continue. As one the entire first rank of the enemy quickened pace to a run. Then the second rank and so on and so forth until the space between the two forces began to shrink rapidly. Now it was time for the Death Guards reply. Hundreds of fist sized projectiles barked their arrival to the battlefield with a cacophony more fitting a Catachan jungle than a lifeless dust planet. Machinery was ripped open and exposed to the air as oils and electrical discharge leapt between the approaching automatons. Several ranks of man machines at a time were rent asunder as the powerful projectiles forced their way through. Still they returned fire. Creations in such disrepair that had they been biological would have surely ceased functioning continued to push forwards. The weakling fire of the enemy were as mankind to Astartes to the Bolts spewing forth from the sons of the Emperor.

Though the enemy was progressing with admirable speed there was still much space separating the two forces. Spread out in one great line two or three marines deep at its thickest the Astartes battle force was edged by two low hills not unlike the one Captain Grendel observed from. From where he was he could see the enemy force had split into two groups. A vanguard and a reserve. Whoever was commanding their foes clearly felt his troops were of such little worth that he would sacrifice many times the enemies number of his own troops simply to test their mettle. The already oppressive heat of Krassus had increased tenfold with the diffusing energy of las blasts. Here and there an Astartes would be dashed a few steps back as a direct hit slammed into his face plate. But still the Death Guard stood. Virtually motionless save for the action of returning fire. The first few ranks of the enemy had been shattered. The Fabricator General himself could not re assemble their remains given a hundred years.

Still even with the carnage inflicted upon them the enemy advanced. They had crossed over now into the peak operational range of the Astartes weaponry. Insectoid caricatures exploded as the thudding projectiles hit home. Each step they took bringing them further into the gnashing teeth of the Astartes. They dropped ten at a time with nothing to show for themselves in the ranks of the Imperium. Every second their numbers diminished exponentially. In the end not a single from among their number closed with the Astartes. Wreckage from their enormous host strewn across the killing field but the Death Guard had stood strong. Red welts dotted their upper bodies and a few had lost eyes but they stood as proudly as they had done before.

Grendel watched with great pride as his men held strong. But his pride was marred by worrying expectations. The enemy had taken his measure now and was ready for a truer test of his men. Tanks... Spewing forth in formations three tanks wide were a formidable supporting force that were now advancing through channels recently opened in the mechanical wargroup. "Prepare Destroyer squads for fire." Grendel ordered via vox net. Never leaving the fore of his thoughts was that the only reason they were on this planet was to solve the crisis of munitions. That first conflict had made an already considerable dent in their supplies. And if the enemy was willing to spend so many of his troops just to test his enemy then it was likely they had enough reinforcements to test the limits of Grendels armoury. The maxumum range of the enemy hover tanks was announced when they began to fire. Astartes were swept from their feet and partially sublimated as man sized bolts of energy speared them from their posts. Chunks of rock were blasted with such force that more than one among their number were maimed by the shrapnel alone.

Now the battle had truly begun. The tanks were reasonably fast. Gliding over the rough terrain far outpacing the man shaped constructs that heralded the start of this conflict. Errant Bolter fire struck the tanks but had little effect. Grendel cursed the over ambitious of his host for wasting precious ammunition but could not fault their intentions. Advancing behind the tanks came fresh ranks of automatons. Those in position added their own strength to that of the tanks. The effect was blistering. There was rarely a pocket of unoccupied air as the las fire once again saturated the environment.

Astartes threw themselves to ground narrowly avoiding las fire or worse. Great beams of light forcing them to keep moving even as the trenches absorbed the worst of the enemy weaponry. Still the Astartes weren't without own answer. By now a second line of enemy tanks were advancing behind the infantry just as the first rank began to seriously interfere with the tales of bravery currently being woven by the Space Marines. Grendel blink clicked the rune that would give the Destroyer squads their order. The sound of air rushing to fill the void formed in the rockets wake conquered the battlefield. Dust was kicked up in great processions that obscured the flanks of the battle. But it did not obscure it enough to stop all the biological warriors from seeing the results. Tanks exploded into ragged shards that bistected scores of constructs as they span through the air. Flames were lost against the burning orange of the primary star as they licked at the sky.

Of the nine tanks that had initially advanced on the Astartes battle line only three remained and if the streaking rockets were anything to go by their existences would soon be cut short. Though the next assortment of mechanicals were not yet within range the second stage of this battle had been claimed by the Astartes. But with each encounter precious more of their ammunition was depleted. The only armament of which they had an abundance of were the Destroyer rockets. Which now rained torrentially down upon the enemy vehicles. Through the smoke of their ruin advanced the bipedal minions. They were as ants to the spawn of the Emperor and were cut down accordingly. Whoever commanded these forces had learnt nothing from the opening encounters and simply shovelled more warriors onto the growing heaps of wreckage dotting the expanse. Such revelations steeled the Death Guard. Grendel himself daring to hope that his enemies deficiency in strategy may make up for the limited means of the Imperium. If they could tear through the enemy with enough viciousness they may be able to deplete them seriously enough to break their commanders will.

"They are upon us!" Shouted Bogdan and with that the firing line was unleashed. Bogdan represented a certain breed of the Death Guard. The legion was as any other legion dedicated to order and chain of command. But within the sons of Barbarus there existed a tendency for the usual chain of command to be circumvented should a battle brother be respected enough. This wasnt to say they would disobey the orders of their superiors but should a marine who has proven himself in battle many times over, but never received promotion, issue an order those with any sense would follow it. Bogdan was just such a marine.

He had been witnessed tearing the arms out of the sockets of a great Ork and since then his word had carried great weight with it. Had the 6th not been home to such venerable warriors such as Ghorgios Szezilaak and the eponymous Apothecary he surely would have found himself promoted many times over. As it stood he was little more than a squad member who found his squad captain incapacitated by one of the enormous hunks of rock thrown up by the earlier tank fire. Bogdan had ended at least a hundred of the swarming enemy personally but had seen brothers who had fried at least double that.

Differentiating this chapter of the battle from the ones prior were the steady stream of menials snaking their way to and from the battle line providing ammunition to Astartes running low. The haze that had settled across the battlefield obscured much of the enemy host to those in the trenches but their presence could be seen in the scorching points of light that continued to issue forth. Bogdan popped out of cover and added his own fire to the foray. A popping sound and a flash of light somewhere in the haze signalling the shots had found their target. Slamming a full magazine into his weapon Bogdan kept his eyes trained on the middle distance. The occasional winds that swept across Krassus made a break in the detritus that obscured his site.

"The destroyers should be firing." was the only thing going through his mind as he fired into the newly revealed enemies. The second rank of tanks had advanced well into range of the Destroyers but for some reason they refused to attack. No word from Grendel had come through the Vox net ordering their hesitance. Shouldering past those behind him who immedtiely filled the void his absence Bogdan climbed the far end of the trench and scanned the edges of the canyon. What he saw threatened to turn the tide of the battle.

The squad leader of the Destroyers reloaded his weapon with an efficiency honed over a life time. "Enemy in range prepare to fire!" he offered the battle as he heaved his weapon to his shoulder and sighted the heathen constructs marching on his brothers. He was not greeted with the answer he expected. "What in the Emperors name..." was all he was able to say before he was shattered. A yellow green orb scattered his form across the ground even as his brothers dove to and fro out of the way of the balls of devastating energy. Shouts of "Xenos!" leapt from the throats of the dying as an unexpected aerial attack gathered them up in its embrace. Sickly winged mirrors of the automatons buzzed around them like a plague.

The Astartes of the destroyer squad were beset and those in the main line were suffering because of it. The tanks had halted now and were unleashing volley after volley into the trenches. Scores died as entire sections of their bodies were disintegrated. Bogdan had spent long enough trying to discern the cause of the Destroyers silence but could not make sense of what he was seeing. Some kind of swarm tore at the edges of the Imperiums forces. But his concern lay now with the battle line that was absorbing the collective fire of the enemy. The bipeds had caught up now and added their own fire to the fray. A pocket of the enemy having singled him out and he could feel the heat as his armour absorbed blast after blast. With his attention now refocused on the unfolding battle his attackers did not survive for long.

Back upon the hill the Astartes grappling with the bug like creatures were struggling on. The alien weaponry sweeping men of their feet and sending them barrelling off the hill. It would seem that these weapons possessed an enormous concussive force but lacked any real penetrating power. The Astartes still fighting could see their brothers sent tumbling from the hill clawing their way back up. But where one of their number was caught between the packed ground and the enemies fearsome weaponry Astartes were rendered down to nothing more than their constituent parts. Still the enemy were not unscathed. The initial shock of their unanticipated attack soon gave way to brutal reprisals. At first they swung their hefty weapons through the sky. Their great strength ensuring the frail creatures were smashed with at least the same consistency of their own dead kin.

Though they could contend with the Astartes strength about as well as the average Human their alien nervous systems were clearly more resilient. Though they posed no further threat to Astartes supremacy they continued to twitch in a manner that proved their continuing sentience. Soon however the Astartes found their tactics progressing in efficiency but regressing in complexity. Their powerful vehicle hunting weapons cast to the ground they reached up grasping with their great hands. Some hoisted their brothers into the air. And then they dragged. They dragged them from the air and under their boots. They dragged them from the air and crushed them to pulp from their bare hands. And at last they dragged them from the skies and there were no more. The warriors of the 49th gave time neither to celebration nor to remembrance of the dead. They simply shouldered their weapons and made to rescue their embattled brethren.

It had been a tough few minutes since Bogdan saw the swarms dancing around the flanks of his forces. A tough few minutes of the Destroyer squads lethal silence. The enemy tanks certainly lacked the raw strength of their Imperium equivilents but they were still more than powerful enough to reduce a single Space Marine to what many would term ingredients. Now their withering fire was beginning to die down and so far not a single one of the bipeds had made it close enough to consider storming the trenches. Astartes lay wounded, a few even lay dying, but still they showed no signs of bowing. Even in the places that the larger enemy weapons had thinned their ranks. "Leave the tanks for the destroyers! Bring down the walkers!" Bogdan shouted over the din. With that the steady stream of popping projectiles that had been crashing against the tank exteriors shifted and scores of the constructs were dashed to pieces. The enemy were mounting the pressure now. Though the Astartes showed no signs of breaking they had been forced to spread out. There was an enormous crash to Bogdan's left as the two remaining tanks exploded into nothing but shrapnel, heralding the destroyers return to the fray.

But that was not what had captured the squad leader attention. It was the bulky grey humanoid constructs emerging from the smoke of the tanks destruction and walking purposefully towards the trenches.

These enemies did not seem to carry weapons but this did not dissuade Bogdan preparing for the battle to enter into a new phase. Grabbing one of the fresh ammo packs from a terrified looking ship worker Bogdan leapt to his position in the battle line even as the enemy lifted their arms in unison. The weight of fire was staggering. Thousands upon thousands of las bolts in quick succession were unleashed upon the Astartes. If it were not for the trenches and their Death Guard heritage they may have been forced back. Ofcourse the enemy were not without their own casualties as the reinforced hulls of these more advanced constructs provided little protection against Astartes bolts aside from the most glancing of blows. But still their weapon fire was intense. The sheer number of blasts guaranteeing some lethal strikes. Bogdan risked a glance down his battle line. Return fire was doing much to reduce the weight of the enemies attack but here and there his battle brothers were being forced to leave the fray to re load and even worse. What had once been a steady stream of munitioneers had fallen to only a trickle.

Grendel had had very few options available to him from the beginning. A surprise attack while trapped in a canyon with their ships under reconstruction. His command circle hadn't fallen to silence since the battle had erupted. Bolkar was voxing those among the battlefield he knew to be more intellectual than the rest and had been providing them with tactical appraisals. The vital points of the enemy and the likely positions that housed their power sources. Still the seemingly infinite number of the enemies was making any such information all but useless. Tuberic had been doing much the same. Collecting orders from Grendel and filtering them down to the front lines. Grendel had for the most part been silent. His advanced mind seeking to unravel all the stimuli before him and turn it to their advantage. His men were the most tenacious ever fight in mankinds service but with no ammunition against an enemy with no end that would all come to naught. Scores of his men had been killed. Many more fought on with the full knowledge that they would soon leave the mortal coil.

Still enough enemy wreckage to build a functioning Starship littered the battle field thought the Captain. An impressive toll certainly. In the recent phases of the battle Grendel had thought he had seen steam and the slightest orange glow emanating from the constant waves of enemy reinforcements not obscured by the smoke and dust. "This is a factory..." The revelation was almost as stunning as a bolt to the chest. There could be no victory. Not in a battle like this. Not where the enemy could be spawned in such numbers as to have no definable end. There were not enough men to divert from the battle to make the ships ready to fly before being overwhelmed and liquidised.

"So then this is it." He thought as he silently thanked the Emperor. Death would not come quickly he knew but it would come at a noble price. Asking Bolkar he found they had enough ammunition for maybe another few major assaults of the enemy. After the grey constructs had spent their strength there had been a brief lull in the fighting. It seemed that the enemy was experimenting. Sending each of their varied units to strike the Astartes to probe for weakness. Thus far there had been little to show for. True the tanks had slain their share of Astartes. The filthy flying Xenos had likewise taken a toll. Even the bulky grey walkers had played their part. But now the enemy was done testing. A fully arrayed and supported battle line, fresh off the press, was advancing towards them. "Start with the tanks." he offered his troops. Then he descended the hill and took his place on the front lines.

When he reached the fray he cursed himself for not making his way here sooner. The ranks opened for him without order and at once he was swallowed up by honour and silent fury. His Bolt Pistol scattered a cluster of the advancing bipeds. The enemy evidently pushing them forwards while their more advanced units manoeuvred into more favourable positions. Already the barks of the Destroyers could be heard either atomising the walkers or driving the approaching tanks to ground. The heavy walkers were interspersed among the bipeds but were proving incapable of pushing back or overwhelming the Astartes. Grendel's well placed shots were felling enemies with admirable speed but he longed to add Miasmon's fury to the battle.

Further down the line and braced by the personal appearance of his commander Bogdan had had an idea. The enemy had all but given up on storming the trenches and simply stood in the open pouring all their fire onto the trenches in the hopes of boiling the Astartes alive. The rocks that had formerly been orange from their composition were now orange with the glow of heat. Where the tanks had survived the longest small rivers of molten stone could be seen running between Astartes feet. The enemy was up to something but he could not be sure what. Something about their troop movements seemed to be suspicious but there was no discerning what it could be. He kept his weapon shouldered and never let up on his impressive rate of fire. He had managed to keep supplied but already those around them were being forced to switch to their side arms as their previously exhaustive supply of bolts became exhausted.

Then suddenly and without warning what had previously been only visions to him became reality. The clicking buzz of hundreds of wings filled his ears even as the green orbs broke around him. "Xenos!" he managed to shout before having to roll out of the way of one of their blasts. He could hear the showers of raw rock bouncing from his armour even as the shrapnelised gravel embedded itself into his face. There was no recognition of pain. He simply fought on. It was not long before the Vox net was alive with calls of confusion but it was the words of the Destroyers that saved the day. With the added strength of these flying creatures the Death Guard were at the mercy of the enemy weapons fire. But when the Destroyers relayed their methodology the fight began to shift. Once more hulking post humans were hoisted above and begun plucking the creatures from the sky. Tearing their wings from their backs as though they were nought but malicious children. Then Bogdan saw the trap.

Positioned no more than twenty yards away from the trench were the wheel constructs. Though they were wheels no more. Unfurled onto tripod legs with two arms and an insectoid head the constructs sat motionless. That would not last long. The Astartes were still battling the flyers but and had grown accustomed to the mechanicals weaponry being all but ineffectual. These wheel constructs were different. Blue orbs of energy encased them even as an unbelievable torrent of las fire emerged from their weapons. The rate of fire truly shocking and those Astartes who had been hoisted to pull down the Xenos were in their sights. Gobbets of liquid ceramite splattered their allies as hundreds of the wheel creatures opened up at once. Bolt rounds exploding harmlessly against their energy shields the enemy attacked with virtual impunity.

Occasionally a rocket would over power a shield and a few would go down but the Astartes were in a dire position now. The majority of them had cast aside their bolters and of those resorting to pistols a not inconsiderable number had been forced to cast them aside too. Grendel had been battling with a decision for the past several minutes and the wheel constructs were the deciding factor. Order his men to hold fast and die where they stand or risk open ground and spend the last of their strength bringing the enemy to task for their apostate existence. His mind was made. He gave the only order he needed too. "Blades!"

As one the Death Guard dropped their weapons and loosed the wicked blades that had brought entire planets to their knees. From the cramped corridors of the ethno-hives of Balanohk to the canyons of Nypheria there had been few enemies who could stand against one of the Death Guard and his trench blade. Now only a man or two thick at most the Astartes battle line surged forwards. Climbing the rim of the trench in seconds, they charged forwards and were met with the mindless reply of a thousand enemies. Some stumbled. Their legs flowing freely and mingling with the running liquids of their armour as the wheel constructs aimed to rob their charge of impetus.

It was a time of great courage. The bravest among their number charging ahead of their brothers and absorbing the enemy fire. Entire marines were melted down to pools as what could easily have been a million enemies bore down upon them. Some tripped over the mountains of enemy dead. But there was no denying the fact that the Astartes were coming. The twitching of mechanical heads a tell tale sign the front ranks were recalculating their odds of survival. Bogdan had almost closed with them. One of his men, a real hard case even by Death Guard standards, was running ahead arms out stretched absorbing enemy fire and acting as a human shield. There was one of the wheels ahead. Separated from its compatriots by the focused fire of the Destroyer squads who were the only ones among the Astartes whose stocks still remained. The marine shielding Bogdan was clearly testing his own worthiness. Checking to see how much of the Primarchs legendary resilience he had inherited. He ducked this way and that absorbing shots that by rights should have missed him. "For the Reaper!" He called out momentarily drowning out the battlefield as all his brothers heard him over the Vox. Wordlessly they acknowledged and their pace was quickened. He was liquidised a few moments later. But his work had been done.

The wheel construct that had stolen his life had focused too entirely on the Marine ahead of him and not on those that followed. Splashing through the remnants of his brother, Bogdans knife had no trouble shearing through its shield. Then his brothers were upon them. Smashing fists and flashing blades tore the wheels to nothing as more of the remaining Astartes forced their way past and crashed into the bipeds behind. Now the slaughter truly began. Where the warriors of Mankind walked the enemy fell. The Astartes casualties were progressing but now they were in the thick of the enemy they were much harder to hit.

Miasmon had already taken a hundred of the enemy when the first signs fatigue began to spread through the Death Guard. Of course the signs of fatigue meant less to them than the other legions but unlike the Emperor they were not infinite. It was only now that Grendel realised the sun had hidden itself over the horizon and had been gone for some time. The only light visible was that thrown up from the enemy weapons and the glowing puddles of power armour and flesh that marked the final stands of many of his brothers. Of his men perhaps a third had been lost and the rest of them were at risk of being bogged down and finished off by the combination of tanks and the constantly arriving flyers that seemingly sensed the tenuousness of their position.

Owing to the futility of the situation Grendel felt a sense of freedom he had not felt in years. There was no reason to worry about leading his men from this heretic galaxy. No reason to worry about whether their supplies would last long enough or their ships could travel fast enough for them to ever see another planet. There was simply the death of the enemy and the death of himself. Grendel hacked this way and that bisecting four or five of the bipeds at a time and crushing more under his bulk as he ran. The ease with which they were trampled a clue as to the recentness of their construction. Stabs of pain lanced through his body as the most compromised parts of his armour finally gave way to the scalding heat attempting to claim his life. He could see his brothers wading through the morass of enemies literally dying to push forwards. Not a single brother here would go unremembered by the Emperor, he was sure of it. When he turned back to his battle he froze. Not far distant he saw the barrel of a tank pointed directly at his torse. He mouthed an oath to Mortarion and awaited his fate. He heard the noise and awaited his death hoping those to his rear would be spared the worst of the attack by his sacrifice. But his death never came.

Instead apocalypse stalked the planet. There was naught to be seen but the cleansing flames of mankinds darkest hour. And he knew their salvation had come. He was cast to the ground with such force he thought he should be shattered. But it would seem that that this galaxy had looked upon the sacrifice of the Death Guard and seen them worthy. And now the sky wept. Three great tears of the universe dominated the sky and there it was. A sight that could draw tears from a stone. It was a Death Guard fleet. "No..." Grendel thought with the last fleeting moments of his consciousness as the heat of atomic fire scoured the battlefield clean of the enemy. It was THE Death Guard fleet.


	21. Fugax Momentum Chapter 21

**Imperial Flames**

Death licked at the planet, designated Krassus, hungrily. Supping of the juices tectonic that gave it its integrity. The sounds of a dying planet could be heard alongside the industry of a thousand thousand factories grinding to a halt. From the bridge of the Reapers Scythe, the Reaper himself looked down upon the punishment he had wrought. And he saw that it was good. The radioactive blooms dotting the planets surface were deliberately placed. The entire star facing side of the sphere laid to ruin. Only a commander with several life times of experience using such weapons, forbidden to so many, could end a planet with such precision and only the soldiers of the Death Guard could survive such a cataclismic event.

Within an hour the entire planet had begun to lose stability. Great gouts of magma along with the remains of an alien civilisation spilled into the void. Fleeing enemy ships were downed in their scores, spirilling back towards their home to share in its death. By the time the Imperial craft had been recovered Krassus was a smoking misshapen lump rapidly cooling after its atmosphere had been scoured away to nothing. When Grendel awoke he had expected to feel the savage caress of his friend the Apothecary painfully snapping bones back into place or sealing arteries with the smoking barrel of a hot bolter. The realisation of his friends absence was more painful. Though there were no healers present to explain the truth of the matter Grendel knew what had happened. Astartes or not the wall of force generated by a hundred thousand atomic explosions was not insignificant. Bones had been shattered and organs ruptured. He could feel it. His body had retreated into a recuperative coma within seconds. After he had regained his bearings he realised he was not aboard the Entropic. His senses had returned to him as though a powerful venom coursing through his veins. Lighting up his nerves in singular agony but also sharpening his focus. The medical station in which he had regained conciousness was for all intents and purposes identical to that upon the Entropic but a good captain could recognise his own ship even in the pitch darkness of deep Space. The realisation that this was not the Entropic spawned a cold feeling in his battered gut. If this was not his ship then it was possible the Entropic was lost. Had his command lead to the end of the venerable ship, he worried.

All such thoughts were lost however, even the pangs of loss brought on by the Apothecaries absence, when he saw Him enter. Alone save for the echoing footsteps of his honour guard that were always to follow. In he came. Rank with power and the promise of death. But in this Spectre Grendel saw nothing of the deathly appiriton the masses were to soon to lable him. Instead Grendel only saw the benevolent father figure that had plucked him from the darkness of Old Night and given him a place in the Emperors shining light. The tugs of age old Human emotion pulled gently in his limply beating hearts.

"My son..." The Primarchs voice was like the buzzing of insect wings. He never raised his voice and yet it filled every chamber and held within all its lilting syllables and gutteral stops the truest essence of Barbarus. It was a voice filled with all the strength of Humanity and edged with the courage to oppose alien worlds and expunge the horrors thereupon. "At last I have found you." Though Grendel hung on every word that left the Primarchs rough lips he could not help but be distracted by the smell. It was a smell of pain and of home. The Primarch was never seen without his personal armour and the breathing aparatus it contained. A constant supply of the noxious fumes of their homeworld always issuing from within. In Grendels radiation ravaged state it was quite overpowering, merging with his memories of home and giving the encounter a dreamlike quality. It was not unknown for the Human menials working aboard Mortarions flag ship to drop unconscious at his passing from the choking miasma he chose to cloak himself with.

Grendel tried to speak but his gene father interrupted. "Rest son of Barbarus. The monsters in the mist will trouble you no longer this day." Almost as though without moving the Reaper Lord moved to Grendels side. Patches of hair were dropping from his head and great scaberous lesions dotted all skin not covered by the unadorned green robes draped over his healing body. "Your body is burned and your bones are broken. But you live another day." Skin cracked as Grendel turned to look upon Mortarion. Weeping puss like juices formerly contained beneath his skin leaked out onto his robe. "For.. the.. Emperor..." He struggled. "Yes my son." Replied the Primarch. "For the Emperor..."

"I had deemed to share with you the cups this day. To honour your acheivments and to show a parents pride in his child. But given your condition I do not think it would be wise, and I have no wish for such a hallowed warrior to spend the last of his life merely to indulge in his victory with a doting father."

But Grendel would not be seen wanting. Not now and especially not in the presence of endurance personified. Struggling against the weight of his muscles, and the furious pace of his cells trying to rid themselves of the damage inflicted by Mortarions dark arsenal, Captain Grendel, lifted his arm and placed one of his gargant hands on Mortarions forearm. The gesture was all his Primarch needed to know that he would rather die right here and now than miss the chance to celebrate a victory hard won with his lord and master.

Quite at odds with his mortifying appearence the Primarchs chapped and raw lips spread into a smile. Revealing teeth forever stained by the effluvial mists of a homeworld wreathed in death. All it took was a raised hand and from the shadows beyond the medical chamber emerged Sabahn. Unlike the growing majority of Barbarun born Astartes the Primarch always had time for the native folk of his homeworld. Though he could often be aloof he never grew too distant to appreciate the struggles of his people. Especially now, as it was all too easy to forget that the sons of Barbarus had simply traded one set of post human masters for another. Mortarion was determined to ensure that that was a decision that they did not live to regret. Despite himself and the presence of the Primarch Sabahn was grinning. If there were any Barbarun hymns of joy he would have sung one. To be be serving his master and to be in the presence of his masters master was dizzying. So much so that the tray upon which rested those cups crafted on his home planet shook with every trembling step.

Mortarion grasped the larger of the two cups. A great baroque peice forged from the black rusted metal that still filled him with a sense of home. Without speaking Grendel leant forwards and took the other. "To victory!" Spake the Primarch and in unison both great warriors imbibed deeply of the toxic fluids within their cups. An instant rictus spread over Grendels already taut features and after some moments of silent acknowledgement Mortarion bid him return to his rest. The strangled groan that followed brought a second smile to his face for the blood of Barbarus, as the effluvium contained in the cups was oft known, was of such virulent toxicity that if ones death was coming it would come quickly. The struggle was all Mortarion needed to hear to know his fabled son would live to fight by his side once more.


	22. Fugax Momentum Chapter 22

**Dont Fear the Reaper**

When Mortarion discovered the Xenos filth had absconded with his most favoured son his fury had been palpable. He did not shatter ceramite with his bare hands as did the fury of Angron. Nor did matter disentangle itself under his gaze as with the dark moods of the cyclops but still it was there. Pressing on the inside of the skulls of those unfortunate enough to find themselves in his presence. He was cloaked in the stillness of a graveyard as he sat completly unadorned in his most private of sanctums. Many had speculated what may lay within the Primarchs personal chamber but even the Emperor did not truly know. The most potent runes of Barbarus were etched into its outer surfaces preventing the psychicly inclined from using their curse to peer inside. Though Mortarions sheer hatred of the witchbreed would likely have done the same.

Inside he sat radiating a hatred that could freeze suns. His soldiers were his children and though he would drown the universe in their blood if it would serve his purpose. To have them spend their glorious lives wastefully would be beyond tragedy. Controlling his titanic humours was proving difficult. He focused on the loci of memory and focus spread across his personal chamber. He eschewed the creature comforts enjoyed by his brothers. There was no bed. No great frescoes presenting his greatest victories nor even lay the trophies so common to a Primarchs inner sanctum. Here there lay only cold metal and the only gift given to him by his father. A gift renched from his cold dying hands and used to inflict terror upon the rest of his rotten ilk. Silence sat eponymously in the corner. As wreathed in toxic mists as the chamber was even Mortarions enhanced eye struggled to see it with clarity. But its presence helped him to focus. It helped him to see that even the terror of the unknown could be reforged into a weapon of Humanity. It was a strange kinship he shared with his instrument for in his mind they were one and the same. Twisted by chaos and forged into a dark weapon for some inscrutable purpose. Whether to be used by the Charnal masters of Barbarus or the hand of the Emperor. Though he was virtually beyond its need Mortarion indulged in some rest. Gathering his lank arms and legs around himself he balled up in the centre of the chamber. The harsh angles of the bolts and rivets maintaining the integrity of the chamber dug into his moon white skin much as the thorns of the vivesector vines of his homeworld had when he first left the safety of his corpse father. It comforted him to remember that even at his most alien and monstrous Humanity had accepted him. But even as he drifted into the sleep of the dead his dark intellect turned itself to the punishment of this heathen galaxy, and the toll he would reap in return for spiriting away his precious champions.

It had been several hours by the time Bolkar had been able to gain access to the Primarch. At one point he thought the stoic Deathshroud warrior guarding entry to the Primarchs sanctum would lop of his head rather than suffer another hour of petitioning. Had he not disobeyed sacred laws handed unto the Astartes by the Cult Mechanicum in the construction of aberrant variant technology Bolkar was sure he could have gained audience much sooner. As it was the Deathshroud were not want to provide access to many who came with no readily apparent reason. Bolkar coughed and spluttered when the doorway yawned open. It was at once a tunnel to glory and a portal to hell. Darkness and choking gas spilled out like a hungry wraith before the Reaper emerged. Once again esconced within his full regalia the Primarch greeted the lowly Astartes with all the paradoxical warmth he could muster. Though darkness still ruled his mind he was not yet willing to stoop to inflicting it upon his men.

From his knee Bolkar spoke. "My master. My lord..." With a tap on the shoulder the Astartes, child like next to the cyclopian being before him, was bidden to his feet. "I must beg your forgiveness. For I have broken a sacred rule handed down to us from the Omnissiah." Mortarion arched what would have been an eyebrow had all the hair from his body not been scoured from his flesh many years ago. Of all the Primarchs Mortarion was the least respectful of the edicts of Mars. Mortarion worshipped no gods. Neither the Emperor nor the Omnissiah were more to him than physical beings. Stripped of any greater cosmic significance than that conferred upon them by ties of loaylty and oaths of battle. Though their audience was being observed by the Deathshroud Bolkar spoke freely for none had ever had heard them speak nor share their thoughts in the past. To be in the presence of the Deathshroud was to be alone.

"When the Apothecary disappeared I was tasked with ransacking the sensorium and bending it to Turgis's retreival. To that end a beacon was constructed." Mortarion listened intently. Few had spent as much as a second thought as to their missing brothers since the battle of Krassus. To hear that others echoed his sentiments brought muffled joy to his heart. "My creation has picked up the trail of an enemy craft leaving the nebula the Apothecary was last seen entering." With Bolkars words suddenly the Primarch was a blur of motion. Having drawn Bolkar up by his pauldrons to look directly into his eyes. "Where are they?" He said with the malice of a father who sought to punish one who had wronged his children. "I took the liberty of programming a pursuit trajectory into the fleets logic engines." Half a second later and the Primarch was walking away. "Inform the helmsman that the fleet is to move. First we will find our lost brothers. Then. We make this galaxy burn!"


	23. Fugax Momentum Chapter 23

**The Machine WILL Obey**

Not long after the fleet had been ordred to move Bolkar had found himself once again sequestered in the depths of the Entropic. Working in concert with the Mechanicum adepts stationed abaord the Entropics brothers there had been a great struggle to prepare the ships for warp travel. The Navigator was still groping around as though blind but Bolkar surmised that being able to sense the warp from this galaxy did not necessarily preclude their entry to it. Now that the ships were ready to translate Bolkar was beginning to regret his championing of this idea. If the Navigator did not regain his sight once they entered the warp the fleet would become lost. This possibility did not phase the Primarch and all made ready for the shift. It was coming now. Bolkar could sense the changes in pressure and electronic direction through the ship as the warp engines were brought online. It would be any second now...


	24. Fugax Momentum Chapter 24

**The Reaping of Mandalore - 4923**

"People of the planet 4923. You have nothing that is not His. You have no legacy that does not stem from his throne. And you have no allegiance save that which belongs to Him. I am his emissary and son and in my name and His I claim this world. Mandalore now belongs to the Emperor, and to Mortarion. You are weak. And in that weakness you have sought out the impure to bolster what little strength you possess. In that impurity you have allowed yourself to fall from the Emperors grace. This day that changes. Either you cast aside the impurities of your people and join your brothers eternal in the loving embrace of the master of all man kind. Or you are dashed to pieces and ground to dust beneath our heels. Either way mankind will be stronger when this night ends." The weight of Mortarions words hung in the air laden with malice. The light winds whipped around sending capes and robes fluttering. It had been only three short hours since Death Guard fleet limped into Mandalorian space but for all appearances a lifetime of strife and fear were etched into the Mandalorians features. The communications between the two cultures ship side were short. Mortarion had offered no explanations or cause for recourse. He had simply delivered his terms. Join us or die. The history of Mandalore was unknown to the Reaper Lord and in truth it had mattered little. These poor misguided children, sickening in their naivety, had consorted with Xenos and lived in heresy for Emperor knows how long. But still they were brothers. When caught up in performing the Emperors work the calm impassive Primarch was all but immune to the erratic humours that ruled the lesser of his people though still he longed to protect them. To prevent the fear and horror of his own upbringing being inflicted upon the men and women of other worlds. Whether they knew it or not the Death Guard were not simply agents of erasure. They were a transformative force working in a great cycle. Breaking down and stripping away the weakness of humanity. Breaking the backs of their fears and forging them into the uncompromising teeth and claws their species so sorely needed. If man kind were to survive they would survive as the hard hearted men of Mortarion. "The plague of decay that has infected your society ends here. The blood spilled today will be your rebirth. From the ashes of the old... Will arise the new."

Not twenty feet away, flanked by rank upon rank of Mandalores Self Preservation Society stood the duchess of Mandalore. The duchess, a proud woman, fair of hair and even fairer of skin, had tried to reason with Mortarion before the Reaper even set foot upon her throne world. Years of political nuance and practiced etiquette were rendered useless in the face of a disturbed monster bred for conquest. The Duchess Satine had called for a dialogue between the two peoples. That there was never any battle so worth fighting that the mere discussion of peace could not at least be brought to the table. But Mortarion had left her nothing but his will. The only thing that could be considered a concession was his pledge to deliver his terms to the people of Mandalore personally. Warning Mandalore of his ready and waiting legions of Astartes he arrived upon the planets surface with a modest personal guard made up of one hundred of the Deathshroud. 

Mandalorians gawked and gaped at the size and power of the gargant warriors. Bolstered by their terriffic suits of armour Mortarions giants were like nothing they had seen before. Marching for the best part of an hour the impressive force of Astartes, in what could almost be described as a mechanised convoy, had met no resistance. The astounding rigidity and discipline of the Deathshroud had stopped the Mandalorians from asking questions. In all their years they had never been allowed to proceed as this without their prize heaping themselves at their feet as supplicants or being heaped at their feet as corpses. Yet by all accounts here was a planet supporting billions letting a marauding and unknown force come fully armed into their inner most sanctums. All speculations had been cut short when the leader of Mandalore had presented herself.

Bowing and eloquently introducing herself and her people the shock experienced by the duchess when Mortarion interrupted had been as clear as crystal to all arrayed before her. Both guards, the Astartes and the multitudes of her subjects had gathered to watch what would become a momentous step in the history of Mandalore. His speech was as much a weapon as the devilish tool held in his monstrous grip. The Mandalorians had heard of the invaders. The holonet from Muunilist to Toydaria was abuzz with half truths and sensationalised recollections of the chaos left in the wake of these new comers. And of the genocidal ambitions of the one they called their master. But the duchess had no mind for failure and had a belief in peace and cooperation every bit as strong as the Astartes dedication to their own cause. She listened as the giant spoke of the war and death that would come to her people if they did not bow to this tyrants will. Of shattered bodies and boiling blood should the "impure" among them not be cast out. When at last the beast stopped, clearly waiting for her answer, Satine stepped forwards. Despite the thousands of onlookers there was silence. A thousand mouths hung open with anticipation. Would all that they stood for die here today or would the principles that guided the new Mandalorians to an age of wonder and prosperity give way to the savagery of their past? Would the duchess Satine risk her life or her principles?

The answer was forthcoming. "Treasured friends. I bid you welcome to Mandalore. Though the milk of your intentions leaves a bitter taste in my mouth it is none the less refreshing. The rulers of our lands rarely speak with such directness. But the people of Mandalore make no wars. We have no soldiers and have no taste for blood. On your world this may be considered a weakness. But here and now it is a cause for strength. It is these unassailable ideals of freedom and peace that have saved us from the long nights of terror brought on by the barbarous nature of our past. You may think yourselves strong, and in truth your deeds may prove it, but there is a greater strength still in our conviction. We will not hurl those who do not share our form or language from the ramparts. We will not cut away what makes us ourselves and we will not allow the mindlessness of our past to be visited anew upon our peoples..."

The Astartes were immobile as they listened. Each one a slave to Mortarions will yet each of them grasped the meaning of the duchess' words with the same a aclarity as their master. The chance for peace was rapidly coming to a close. "But our strength is beyond your Ken and if we must suffer to prove it and preserve the one immutable truth of the universe. That peace IS prosperity, than we shall do so... You will find no resistance on Mandalore."

Those powerful words sent an undetectable shockwave through the assembled Astartes. Even the unflappable Mortarion was taken aback. A billion people confronted with the reality of the end of their culture. Of the surgical removal, of creatures they considered friends and allies, from their lands had simply given up in the name of peace. Not merely forced compliance as those who usually surrendered to Mortarion offered but complete acceptance of the new order of things.

Mortarion took a moment to think. The hypersensitive pathways of his mind firing with the strength and speed of an exploding star as he forged his will into words. But he would not receive a chance to utter them, to accept the peaceful transition of power from Mandalore to the Imperium. It would seem that the detestable wretches who now squirmed in his presence were not the best Mandalore had to offer.

Screaming in some heretic language a man shouldered to the front of the crowd. Clad in a warriors armour, half hidden beneath the simple garb worn by most of the rank and file who had assembled to witness their duchess' negotiations, the man was possessed of three things that set himself apart from the others. A visored helmet, a powerful weapon and most importantly the will to use it.

Las fire cut out from the crowd and within seconds a dozen other points of fire reached out to lick the Astartes. The walking tanks of the Death Guard remained immobile. Their terminator armour proof against the weakling attack of their enemies. It was only when the Deathly spectre at their fore raised a hand that motion entered their ranks. As one they shifted like a cloud of flies. Turning outwards and raising their murderous scythes to battle positions. Seconds later and more of the Mandalorian attackers appeared. Men and women who had played their parts perfectly donned helmets and masks and raised pistols to their sights or rifles to their shoulders. What had been a trickle was now a rain and with each passing second threatened to become a downpour. Already the guardians of the Self Preservation Society leapt and scrambled at the duchess dragging her into their ranks and away from danger.

"So this is the way of Mandalore!" Screamed the Reaper Lord. "You offer peace with one hand and a blade with the other" Though his expression was none to dissimilar to that which he had worn as emissary those who had any measure of the man could see the cold rage crystallising within. It was a rage that had brought many worlds to a fate much worse than compliance. The tightening of knuckles around Silence a clear signal that battle was to be joined. The entire Astartes battalion made ready for war just as a new personage entered the fray.

Nearly fifty of them appeared. Haloed by smoke and flame as they passed over the duchess and her panic stricken guard. Men and women in the armour of old Mandalore. "Warriors... At last." Thought the most uncompromising Primarch. He could taste the tang of the chemicals loosed into the air by their jet packs and even through the unreadable faces of their helmets sense their eagerness to fight. The fear daubed across the Preservation societies faces was enough to alert Mortarion to their differing intentions. Without laying his gaze upon them the reaper could sense his men's readiness for battle. But the unexpected unfolding of events had caught his interest and he stalled their advance. When Mortarion looked around he saw they were no longer ringed by the crowds of civilians that had assembled to greet them but by the cold shapes of armoured warriors. The crowds remained but the wolves in sheeps clothing that had been hidden among their number had taken the front. A moment later and Mortarion was greeted by the sight of this new enemy commander and his honour guard touching down and closing the space between them. Each among the approaching enemy warriors was unique. None carried the same weapons as their brethren but each carried the aspect of a proud warrior with a long history of battle. Mortarion was almost impressed.

"You come to us in the guise of humanity yet you wear a shape unfamiliar to us. Hulking monstrosities of metal and pallid flesh claiming to be our brothers yet offering the death of our people. The wastrel whore of new Mandalore has nothing to offer you. Let instead the strength of the Death Watch, the strength of our ancestors and the strength of our unextinguishable warrior blood be Our peoples answer. For only the strong shall rule Mandalore."

The enemy fire had ceased the moment this figure had appeared. Though hidden by the apparatus of his armour Mortarion was smiling. He had been all but ready to exterminate the Mandalorians for in truth any such civilisation that surrendered itself so easily could be of no worth to the Imperium. But the arrival of the Death Watch had changed that. Their was strength in Mandalore yet and whether he had to cut the Xenos taint from the people of Mandalore one by one himself Mortarion realised there were men and women here who were worthy to become subjects of the Emperor. Though they were leading their people into a war that would snuff out millions from the face of the universe Death Watch had in fact saved their people.

Stillness had returned to the great domed city. The polished reflective surfaces twinkled with the reflection of the pale brown stonework of the buildings around them even as the trees swayed gently in the perfectly regulated atmosphere. This was unappreciated by Mortarion. Mandalore would be considered a gem by the men and women of the Imperium were it to have been a compliant planet. But the appreciation of beauty was oft times beyond the reaper. The only beauty that concerned him was the undimmable light of human determination.

The two war leaders took the measure of each other as their assembled warriors watched. The shared warrior aspect between the two forces the closest thing to respect that had been shared between the people of the Imperium and those who lived in the shadow of the Republic. A wordless battle was being waged for all to see. Though only those with the most heightened of perceptions could see more than a giant and a defiant soldier locked in silent communion.

With excruciating slowness the Death Watch commander drew his blade. The dark energy of a black hole flared to life ensnaring the light of the universe and binding its absence into a hellish weapon of war. Flickering energy the colour of snow coursed along its edges and the enhanced hearing of a Primarch heard its hunger crackling.

"Death Watch... To war!"

In seconds motion returned to the scene. Stillness remained not even in the most shadowed corner of the assembly grounds. Hundreds of Death Watch soldiers leapt into the air carried upon wings of rage and of chemical flame. Superheated light and energy tore at the Astartes even as missiles rained down upon them. Mortarion had no concern for the Deathshroud. They had died once in his service and their deaths here would matter as little to them as they did to him. With the speed only a demigod could muster the reapers hand had drawn the lantern even as his mind made ready to illuminate Mandalore. The enemy leader streaked across the open ground towards his monstrous enemy. Though the enemy were clearly garbed for war there was only one point of return fire from the off worlders. Those ensconced in armour weaved this way and that deflecting blasts with the sheaths of coruscating energy surrounding their blades or shearing approaching missiles into inert scrap as they absorbed the strength of Death Watch.

However light it seemed the Astartes return fire was singularly devastating. Duchess Satine could see the red purple streaks leap from the enemy deathlord and the blue after images they left in their wake. She was dimly aware of the hands that pulled her further and further away from the enemy but she was overwhelmed by the sight of unbridled war. The weight of her failure more painful to her than the carnage infecting her kin. She saw one of her guards leap forward and present his shield to one of the oncoming blasts. She looked just in time to see the man evaporated to the elbows , staring and screaming at the sight of his still steaming stumps. Another wave of caustic energy washed over her and she was showered with the stinging gobbets of her brave guardians remains. Even as the boiled leavings of one of her guardsmen burned into her skin she was pulled from the field of battle. Tens of men laying down their lives and being rendered down into their constituent materials sacrificed to keep her safe. The single enemy shooter only gave up his quest for her annihilation when a pack of the flying Mandalorians took her defence upon themselves. While the bulk of their strength tore at the Astartes these commandos flew her to safety. Whatever differences these two factions maintained Mortarions intentions had united them.

The Mandalorion flyers heaped their enmity upon the Astartes to little effect. Only their missiles having any perceptible impact. Occasionally one would stray too close in an attempt to fire a blast through an eye plate or the weak spot of their armour but these foolhardy warriors were soon instructed on their folly. Mammoth digits ensnared legs and cloaks hauling their owners into the closed ranks of the Death Guard. The stains left at battles end the only gravestone they would ever know. Others were severed at the waist by great singing sweeps of the reaper blades the enemy carried. The Mandalorian leader was now within striking distance of the enemy Primarch, his crackling blade echoing the hungry growl of fate as its tip aimed itself at Mortarions throat. But it would not taste the perfect blood of the Barbarun prince today. Red and then blue heralded the end of Pre Viszlas resistance. The governor of Conchordia and secret Mandalore of the Death Watch had been erased. With that the battle once again stalled. The Death Watch hesitated. The one sided death of their comrades was water of their backs but the death of their greatest meant something more. This would be the moment that decided if the war ended right there and right then. Mortarion smiled once more when he saw the enemies answer. Garbed in a black suit of armour ridden with the orange stripes of some alien beast, baring wirey yet well muscled arms to the open air and dripping with weaponry and sciences inimical to more forms of life than the great reaper new of, Tor Anash stepped forwards. From the bubbling remains of his adopted uncle he tore free the silvered handle that would unleash the cackling black blade that had claimed so many. When once again the blade uttered its deathly intentions Mortarion knew. Here was a worthy opponent.

In the stillness of the moment Mortarion drank in the sensation. The struggle that to his rationalist mind seemed the closest thing to the divine. The transformative agent of war that dashed apart the greatest hopes of men and weakest examples of humanity was upon them. It sharpened him and his men and whether it would lead to their total annihilation or not it had finally offered one shred of redemption to this heathen planet. "War is upon you. This will not be the first galaxy to burn and it will not be the last. Prepare yourselves in whatever manner you wish..." Mortarion turned as he spoke boring into the cowering civilians and warriors alike with his gaze. "And when my legions return to this planet your fate will be decided. The strong shall survive... and the weak shall perish." And with that a shimmer of coruscating energies snatched the reaper and his soldiers from the surface of Mandalore leaving the survivors to mourn their dead. And to prepare for the scouring to come. 


End file.
